My Way Home
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Part three following "Look to the Sky" and "The Girl You Are." Marshall is severely injured in the line of duty, leaving Mary to ponder their future in law enforcement as well as dealing with their young son. Always rate T to be safe on language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't know if any of my few faithful readers were anticipating this, but I have been writing non-stop in my blessed time off before my spring semester begins. I always make sure I finish a story completely before posting because I don't ever want to start and get blocked not being able to finish (in case I am lucky enough to have people that are awaiting new chapters!)**

**So, I composed "Look to the Sky" which started out as a stand-alone in which Marshall's father passes away and six-months-pregnant Mary goes to his homeland in his time of need, thus enabling them to realize their feelings for one another. I got such a good response I went on to write "The Girl You Are Today" where Mary experiences her own father's passing as well as the responsibility of being a fairly new mom and soon-to-be-aunt. **

**Now, whether any of you give a flying fig or not, I have moved on to part three and likely the final part of the trilogy, "My Way Home." In this installment, Sam is a thriving first grader and Mary's and Marshall's jobs as federal employees have finally come back to bite them in the butt. I warn you before you begin; this tale is appreciably longer, as it is likely the final one in the series. I had no idea Sam and the Kansas gang would take me so far but they have. I really hope that a lot of you will give this a glance, especially if you had any interest in the first two stories. My belief is not that pregnancy and/or motherhood automatically changes you, but that it CAN and that over the last two stories, she has morphed slightly as a wife and a mother while still (hopefully) remaining true to herself.**

**It is high on drama and angst so enjoy this first chapter before it all comes crashing down!**

XXX

Whoever donned Wednesday 'hump day' had a seriously dirty mind, Mary reflected as she held onto a sandwich bag with her teeth and tossed Cheetos somewhat past their expiration into the Ziploc still in her hands.

Did Cheetos actually go bad? Maybe just overly crunchy.

Sealing the bag, she spit out the one in her teeth and grabbed Sam's peanut butter and jelly and wiggled it inside. She then stuffed the whole assortment, plus a cup of pudding into the waiting brown paper lunch sack.

"Sam, let's go!" she hollered, spewing little bits of stretchy plastic she'd accidently gnawed off.

Wednesdays were the worst. There was nothing 'hump' about them, either in the literal or figurative sense when it came to the Mann household. All it meant for their little trio was that either Mary or Marshall caught up on an overload of work until Friday evening, sometimes early Saturday morning, while the other parent stayed with Sam. It was the only way they managed to coordinate WITSEC and the mother-father gig at the same time. Come Monday, they switched right back – lather, rinse, repeat. On lighter weeks they were able to revert back to the olden days of going to the office and checking out crime scenes, but this wasn't one of those weeks.

"SAM!" Mary bellowed, turning on her Marshal voice.

In the back of her mind, she knew it wasn't Sam himself that was holding up the trot to school. This week, it was his dad's turn to spend the time away from his family and Mary knew they were both trying to squeeze out a few extra minutes.

"Marshall!" she changed her tactic slightly and strode across the room to grab Sam's backpack off the couch, sticking her head inside to make sure he had everything he was supposed to for life in the first grade.

"Coming!" said a muffled voice, behind the closed door of Sam's bedroom.

"Coming should've been five minutes ago!" Mary didn't let up, recognizing the tone of her son. "Marshall, move your ass!"

Laughter sounded from behind the door, identical giggles and yet vastly different all at the same time. One hysterical and filled with adoration, the other genuine amusement and joy. If you didn't know better, you'd never be able to tell one from the other.

Seeing that both were going to have to be dragged out by their ears – or with a glock in their back – Mary huffed and stalked to Sam's bedroom and flung the door open. She found the pair of them in the center of what long before had been the guest living quarters, Marshall with a sword and Sam with a lasso.

"For God's sake…" Mary muttered, seeing Sam whip the rope round and round just as his father had taught him. Marshall was trying to slay him through the circles, but the younger was too quick for him.

"Sam, your shoes aren't even on!" his mother interrupted without hesitation, stepping between the pair of them. "Hurry up! I made your lunch; let's go!"

She seized the rope from his fingers and, resigned but expected, he let go and Marshall put up his hands in defeat.

"Your mom's right, sheriff. We'll have to continue the battle of the knight versus the cowboy when I get back," Marshall tossed his weapon onto the bed and rumpled Sam's hair.

"But you said you were gonna come up with something more realistic," the six-year-old spouted. "Cause you said knights were alive…?"

Sam paused in thought, screwing up his face in concentration as he tried to remember. Marshall waited, hanging on to see if his son could pull the information from the rear of his brain.

"The Middle Ages?" Sam finally said uncertainly.

"Correct," Marshall nodded approvingly.

"Christ almighty – and I'm trying to get him to school, why?" Mary murmured under her breath, but neither one of her men paid any attention.

"So if the knights were in the Middle Ages and the cowboys were part of the Old West then they couldn't be in the same fight," the little one reminded him. "That's what you said."

"Marshall…!" Mary interjected, sticking her hands on her hips and heaving an exasperated sigh.

He finally turned to her and smirked, clearly unable to hide the glee at his son having such a brilliant mind. There was no denying where he'd acquired it. He was as interested in the all the philosophical garbage his dad was; lapped it up like a puppy on water, flowers to rain in springtime.

"You're right Sam," her husband reinforced. "And I did tell you I'd map out a more realistic scene. But I haven't found anyone who used lassos in the Middle Ages yet," he admitted.

"What if I used my pistol?" Sam asked seriously. "And you could use that hammer thing," he suggested.

"The Colt!" Marshall said enthusiastically, referring to the gun. "Up against the War hammer!" he went on, eyes lighting up. "Logistically, still not a fair fight but that'd be some match-up…"

"Say, here's an idea!" Mary could not sit through this any longer, determined not to have Sam miss the bus again. "How 'bout I bust out a belt and tie your hands and frog-march you out to the bus stop?"

Both of them finally looked at her, as if not even realizing she'd entered, despite Marshall's devilish grin a few minutes before, pleading for five more minutes.

"Who do you think would win _that_ battle?" she asked when neither one responded, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

Marshall finally chuckled and Mary knew this was his way of moving on. She seized Sam by the arm and they trooped back into the living room, Sam still chattering about artillery, warhorses, and figures of evil as he shouldered his backpack.

"You couldn't lay off, just for one morning," Mary pretended to be angry as she went to the kitchen to grab the lunch sack, Marshall following.

"Have a heart," he pouted. "I probably won't see him till Saturday."

"You _better_ see him Saturday," Mary reminded him. "He will pitch a fit if you aren't here on his birthday. Even for a fraction of a second; I'm telling you, he won't…"

"Mare, relax," Marshall held up his hand. "I'll be here. I'll be back Friday night; I'll even pick up his cake."

"Seems like the least you could do," she groused, but Marshall wasn't fooled. He leaned over and pecked her cheek.

"He's not the only one I'm going to miss, you know," he murmured, close to her ear.

Mary moaned contentedly, steadfast in not letting her hormones take over. She shoved him lightly in the chest to get him to back up.

"You're such a girl," she teased, unable to hide her smile this time. "Can't even ditch the house without tearing up like some sap."

Before Marshall could respond, Sam returned wearing his navy windbreaker, backpack resting squarely on both shoulders. He eyed his parents curiously, standing about a foot apart but not touching; Marshall smirking stupidly, Mary with a mocking glint in her eye.

"Here," Mary said, seeing him appear and shoving his lunch into his waiting hands. "Your lunch."

"You mean his chuck box!" Marshall shot his son a glowing look and he smiled, tongue poking between his single missing tooth on the bottom.

"Honestly, you two," Mary sighed. "Can you be normal for like…five seconds?"

"Never," Marshall shook his head, eyes still on Sam.

"Dad says normal is overrated," her son dictated and Mary rolled her eyes.

"Seriously?" she shot Marshall a glance, but he couldn't keep the delight off his face. Mary knew her role when they got like this; fake thinking its annoying and they'd just take it to the next level.

Sam stuck his head inside his bag and fed his mother his own irritated look.

"What's with that face?" she wanted to know.

"Mom," he stated seriously. "You forgot my drink. Again."

Before Mary could respond, Marshall side-stepped behind her and went to the fridge, pulling out a juice box, which he tossed to Sam. The boy missed completely and it fell onto the linoleum with a dull thud. He immediately scooped it up and stuffed it into the confines where it was supposed to go.

"You better get moving," Marshall reminded him. "Bus will be at the corner in five minutes."

For the first time, a little bit of sadness crept into Sam's normally bright features; his blue eyes downcast, even his reddish-brown waves seem to droop. Mary felt a little badly for reacting so harshly to the playtime with his dad. He hated when Marshall had to leave.

"You'll be back before my birthday, right?" he asked, just to make sure. "Because we're brawling in the backyard; I'm getting out _all_ my weapons. But I'm saving the crossbow for Jesse," he reminded him. "Even though he can't shoot it," he finished with a giggle.

Marshall laughed too and stepped over to Sam, running his hand over his soft brown hair.

"Yes, I will be back," he reinforced. "I would never miss your seventh birthday."

"You know I'm only the third person in my class to turn seven," Sam reported proudly. "Only Carson and Skylar did already."

Skylar? Mary thought disdainfully. She was so grateful she had given her child an ordinary name.

"It's only October," she reminded him in thinking about this. "The year is still young."

Without giving him a chance to respond, Mary pressed on to avoid overlooking anything else besides the juice box.

"Remember; you get off the bus with Jesse this afternoon," she said to jog his memory. "Brandi and Peter are gonna order pizza and one of them will take you two to school tomorrow."

"I know, I know," Sam shook his head, aggravated. "But are you going with dad?" he asked. "Both of you?"

"No," Mary said at once. "But I'm not sure how late I'm gonna be; it's just easier for you to stay with Brandi this time, okay?"

"Oh!" Sam suddenly exploded, jumping up on the spot and ignoring his mother's directions. "I told him I'd bring all my stuff so we could practice fighting before my birthday!"

"What's…all your stuff?" Marshall wanted to know before Mary could ask.

Sam shrugged, clearly evasive and knowing the answer even prior to speaking.

"My weapons."

"Sam, you _know_ you can't take those things to school," Mary heaved a sigh, having been over this far too many times.

Sam would never, in a million years, ever truly hurt anybody; most of his toys were plastic, phony artifacts meant for display. Over half his interest was in the history of their origin – like father, like son. But the elementary didn't exactly see it that way. The last thing Mary needed was for her kid to be blamed for concealing firearms.

"I'm not taking them to _school_!" Sam protested. "I won't even take them out of my bag! It's for later!" he whined.

"Smush, cut it out," Mary said firmly. "You know the rules."

Her son stuck his lip way out, looking so much like Brandi when he pouted it was comical. But Mary hated when he whined; it grated on her nerves more than almost anything else. Briefly, Marshall threw her a pleading look, guidance to let the conventions bend just a little.

It didn't please his wife, but she nodded her acceptance.

"One thing," Marshall reported. "One. That's it."

"My lasso!" Sam decided, accepting the leeway at once.

And he tore back to his bedroom, footfalls heavy on the floorboards. This was not a surprise in the least. When forced to divvy up his supplies, he chose the bandannas, the pistols, the ropes every single time. A cowboy at heart.

"Book it, Sam!" Mary bellowed. "You'll be late!"

He was back in an instant, backpack swinging side-to-side on his shoulders; the tiniest sliver of twine peeking out through the zipper where he'd shoved the lasso haphazardly inside. Breathless now from a little bit of compliance, he skidded to a halt just in front of the back of the couch, telltale mischievous smirk on his face.

"All right," Mary said, slightly dreading what was coming. "Say goodbye to dad. You'll see him in a few days," she promised roughly, gruff as she let her gaze fall to the ground. She always left the sentiment up to Marshall. He was far better at it.

Sam's look mirrored his mother's as Marshall joined the two of them in the living room, holding out his arms.

"Give me a big one, sheriff. It needs to last me till Saturday," Marshall played, pulling his boy into his embrace.

It was an awkward looking hug, Mary noticed as she stood beside them trying not to be too conspicuous. Marshall was so tall and had to stoop to reach Sam, who practically got lost in his long, lanky arms. Still, there was something secluded about it also, like it didn't matter where Mary was or how close. They could lose themselves in their own little world just fine.

"I love you, bud," Marshall said, patting his backpack forcefully. "We'll fashion a proper battle when I return to the homeland," he promised. And then, pulling away, "By oh-six hundred Saturday morning," he added as he righted himself and saluted.

Sam considered, thinking hard as he reflected on his dad's frame of reference.

"That's eight o'clock right?" he asked to confirm.

"Close," Marshall said with a small, obliging smile. "Six o'clock. A.M."

"In the _morning_?" Sam burst. "I'm not getting up at six in the morning!"

"Not even on your birthday?" Marshall asked as he guided him toward the door, knowing if they didn't get cracking he would never make it to the bus. Mary followed, lingering to give them their moment before departure.

"Oh yeah!" Sam said, forgetting. "You'll really be back by then?"

"Of course!" Marshall reinforced as he pulled open the front door, early morning sunshine streaming onto the porch through the leaves of rich crimson red and brown. "You know I always keep my promises."

Truer words had never been spoken. Marshall never made a vow he wasn't certain he could uphold.

"Okay," Sam said, finally accepting the words as he stepped onto the threshold, just as the bus pulled up at the house next door. "Bye dad."

He waved even though Marshall stood not two feet in front of him.

"See you mom," he added as an afterthought.

"Bye pal," Mary finally spoke, stepping in beside Marshall and tousling up his flyaway waves, still the exact shade of molasses. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, all right? Have fun with Jesse tonight."

"Okay," he repeated as he ran across the lawn, the dew of fall dampening his sneakers as he chased through the grass. He made it to the bus just as it was about to slide its doors shut, accordion style, slipping in between the crack.

The glare from the sun was too harsh for Mary to be able to see him wave from the window, but he'd claimed he was getting too old to do so anyway, so she wasn't sure he'd even have attempted it.

The pair of them stood long after the bus had already disappeared, robins and sparrows squawking in the trees above, a slight chill in the air as autumn floated in on its breeze. New Mexico or not, the cool still loitered, as did the fallen leaves crackling on the driveway, striking in hues of burnt orange and sienna. They fluttered down the sidewalk, sailed softly to the ground, reminding Mary that Sam's birthday was not the only thing on its way – Halloween, Thanksgiving. Before she knew it-it would be Christmas.

"So…" she said to avoid thinking about this, clutching Marshall's arm to steer him back into the house.

She shut the door behind them and trailed after him to the bedroom, watching him put his things together – a few pairs of clothes in a small suitcase, the essentials he always traveled with.

"Where are you headed this go around?" Mary asked. "Nowhere too far, right?"

"Las Cruces," he reported swiftly. "A transport's coming in from El Paso."

"A transport?" Mary questioned, leaning in the doorframe. "What's his story?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Marshall explained, zipping his bag. He'd packed most of the necessities the night before, typically organized as usual.

"The usual – drug-smuggling, jailhouse snitch. But some of the guy's less-than-law-abiding-former-cronies are still running around out there," he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but Mary wasn't buying it.

She shifted off the frame, raising her eyebrows, and joined him next to the foot of the bed as he set the suitcase on the floor.

"Running around out where?" she wanted clarification.

"It's no big deal," Marshall assured her. "Stan's coming with me."

This was more alarming than Mary cared to admit. Their boss did not traditionally accompany his inspectors on witness escorts.

"Why?" she wanted to know immediately.

"Because my partner isn't," he reminded her with a significant glance and a hand on her shoulder. "Just a precaution."

"Well, maybe I _should_ go," Mary decided, fully ready to step in and do her job. She always hated the idea of Marshall going out when she wasn't there to save his ass, despite the fact that he always came back just fine.

"Mare, you do this every time we have a busy month," he reminded her, now rubbing her shoulder. "I know it's hard for you to just sit on the sidelines even for a millisecond, but it isn't safe," he implored. "This is what we decided – because of Sam. When it's remotely dangerous, one of us has to stay home."

"I know," she sighed, not without a characteristic roll of her eyes. "But is it my fault you won't be able to cover your own hide if I'm not there to jam my gun in the balls of the guy who tries to cross you?"

"And…" Marshall began patiently. "This is where I use your very favorite phrase," he paused to let it sink in. "I can take care of myself."

Mary knew it was true, knew she trusted him, knew he was badass and cutthroat when he really wanted to be, but she couldn't help it. She'd never worried like this when they'd just been partners, but things were different now.

Sensing the apprehension, Marshall kissed her as he always did; capturing her lips in his, and put her at ease. That always did the trick.

"I'll be home in a few days and we can have a proper fight when I get back," he promised with a silly grin, as though he were talking to Sam.

Mary tried not to smile, but it didn't go over. He was too damn charming for his own good.

"Be careful, doofus," she tried not to sound too pleading, adding the nickname to make herself feel better. She slunk into his arms without even knowing it, gazing up into his huge blue orbs. "I'm sure it's just a bunch of lowlife douche-bags but even knob-jobs can be obnoxiously tricky sometimes."

"I know the drill," Marshall swore as Mary ran her fingers up and down the buttons on his shirt. "And yes, I will be careful."

"You better," Mary said as she allowed him to pick up his suitcase and head back into the living room.

She stumbled along behind him, tickling his back with her long fingers as he walked, trying to keep up and make him stay a minute longer. But within seconds they were back at the door and she couldn't turn into a sap. She knew he had to go.

"Be good babe," he beseeched her with one last kiss; Mary fought to pull away.

"Are you kidding?" she fed him a brave attempt at a haughty look, smile still remaining. "I'm always good."

And with a look of longing, she made herself close the door in his face.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed the beginning of things here! Reviews make me so-so happy and I would really appreciate it if you took the time. XOXO**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Many-many-many thanks to those who have already viewed! You're the best! I know I update way more frequently than other posters, but I never like to wait and like I say, I know if I just post as I write, I'll end up getting some sort of block and not be able to continue. So I always make sure to finish and tweak later if need be.**

**Oh, and to my faithful jekkah – sorry I frightened you with the last author's note, LOL! And thanks for the head's up on military time, Enfleurage!**

XXX

Mary never fretted for long when it came to Marshall and his potentially hazardous excursions. The initial goodbyes made her a little nervous, but once he was gone it became routine all over again. She'd been in the field with him too many times to count, and he was treacherous when armed. It turned her on in ways she once before could never have owned up to.

It was a quiet day at the Sunshine Building with both Stan and Marshall out in Las Cruces and she didn't hear from either one of them, but that was to be expected. This left her with Delia, cheerful as ever, and gushing about the special muffins she'd baked for Sam's birthday. Overly perky or not, Mary had to admit she enjoyed all the attention her son garnered from just about everyone in his life. He was universally adored – like his father, not his mother.

Home earlier than anticipated around 7:30, Mary settled herself on the couch with a glass of wine and called Brandi to check up on Sam and see if she wanted him picked up before the next day.

"Hey," her sister said when she answered the phone.

She could already hear Sam and Jesse squealing loudly in the background. With only a year and a half between them, Jesse just slid one grade lower than his cousin but the two of them were practically inseparable.

"Hang on a second," Brandi laughed over the noise and Mary waited while she moved to a quieter atmosphere. "What's up?" she went on when the sounds muffled slightly.

"I got done early," Mary told her. "You want me to grab Sam so you don't have to worry about both of them before school tomorrow?"

"Nah," Brandi said with another chuckle. Mary could picture her turning to watch the kids frolic, reveling in every minute. "Jesse will make _such_ a scene if I take Sam away from him. Don't exactly want to witness that," she said.

"All right," Mary sighed, taking a sip of wine. "Just thought I'd ask. They're beasts together."

On cue, a loud crash sounded through the speaker, followed by several delighted shrieks.

"_Avast ye matey!"_ said a low, growling voice, which prompted more screaming.

"What the hell is that?" Mary wanted to know. "Tell me you are not further corrupting my child."

"It's Peter," Brandi reported with a louder guffaw this time. "Cowboys against pirates?" she sounded uncertain. "I don't know. I think that's a new one."

"Probably," Mary grumbled, not sure why she was being sour about it. Maybe because she knew Marshall would want to be included, just like the little boy on the playground who got left out, and he wasn't here to enjoy it.

"So, you're okay keeping him for the night then?" Mary tried to confirm.

"Yeah," Brandi said as though her sister should've known this already. "That was the plan."

A pause fell between them, Mary using the opportunity to down a little more wine. For some reason, she felt like getting a little tipsy tonight. It was no mystery, actually. It helped her sleep when Marshall was out of town, even though the idea made her feel marginally guilty. It made her like Jinx – using alcohol to mask her insecurities and issues.

"What, are you lonely?" Brandi asked when Mary didn't respond. "Is that why you want Sam back?"

"No," Mary said at once with a swallow. "I'm trying to unburden you, Squish. I would think you could show a little gratitude."

"Yeah, right," the younger Shannon scoffed disbelievingly. "I'll pretend I buy that."

It was harder to mess with Brandi when she was so on her A-game these days. She wasn't an airhead anymore. Mary truly thought she'd never live to see the day.

"Whatever," Mary responded to her josh. "Let me say goodnight to him if he's staying over."

"Okay," Brandi agreed. "Just a second…"

There was a scuttle of noise from the other end of the phone while Brandi went to fetch Sam – more shouts and screeches, followed by many thuds. Vaguely, Mary wondered if Brandi's house was going to be in one piece by tomorrow.

"_Sam! Sam!"_

"_What?"_

"_Your mom's on the phone!"_

"_Tell her I'm busy roping in the swashbucklers and that their puny knives don't stand a chance!"_

Mary was hard-pressed not to roll her eyes at this. This could go on awhile and she hoped Brandi was smart enough to pry him away from the action.

"_You didn't do it ALL!"_ that was Jesse. _"I got him with the axe!"_

Where the hell did they get an axe? Peter wasn't going to have any limbs left when he got out of this.

"_Arrrr!"_

The pirate snarl sounded again.

"_Sam, come on! Two seconds!"_

Brandi was bargaining now. With a shuffle and another thump, Mary finally heard his voice come clearly through the speaker.

"Hi mom."

"Hey Smush," she greeted him as she usually did. "You having fun?"

"No!" he said dramatically, and Mary knew this was all part of his game. "Captain Long-Tooth Alpert slashed my leg off with his dagger! I might bleed out!"

Long Tooth? Mary shook her head, laughing against her will.

"Jesus, that's serious," she decided to play along. He was used to her language by now, but Marshall had trained him not to use it. She was lucky to have him around.

"_Yeah_, it's serious!" he reinforced, as though his mother might be touched in the head. "But don't worry. Jesse and I are working to blast off both his knees."

Did it say something about her that her son was so bloodthirsty? Yet even in his desperation to fight the good fight, he was so fiercely gentle in about every way. Everything was a game to him; his imagination took him places Mary couldn't even dream up. Only Sam could be standing upright in the living room shooting off a guy's kneecaps and not lay a hand on the offender at the same time.

Before Mary could respond to this plan, he was at it again.

"Hey mom – I thought of something else I want for my birthday," he decided.

"Sam, it's in two days," she reminded him, rounding up.

"I know," he said. "But I just thought I'd tell you – just in case. Maybe dad can get it wherever he went."

With a resigned but predictable sigh, Mary said, "All right. What is it?"

"A grappling hook!" he revealed with vigor. She could picture his face flushed with excitement at the prospect.

"And what are you going to do with a grappling hook?" she wanted to know.

"Duh!" he interjected loudly. "Dad said they actually used them on navy ships a long time ago, but if I'm going to play pirates, I need something to hang onto the trees!"

"I'm sure that makes sense to you," Mary laughed, not even bothering to try and understand.

There was a break in the flow of conversation while Sam conferred with Jesse; Mary didn't quite catch all the words. But something about 'tie him up' and 'gag him' was included, and Mary found herself trying not to chuckle all over again. They were in way too deep to back out now.

The voice that returned to the phone wasn't her son's.

"Mary?" said the tinnier, higher-pitched tone of her nephew.

"What's up Jess?" she asked. "What's the story Smoosh?"

He found his nickname funnier than Sam found his, and he giggled before responding.

"Dad says he needs rein…rein…" he struggled to get the words out, stuttering over them. "Re…in…"

"Reinforcements?" Mary prompted, figuring out where the phrase was headed.

"Yeah, that!" he declared. "But…what are those?" he wondered in a low voice.

Mary pictured Jesse, his hair pure and silky blonde just like his mother's, far straighter than Sam's with his huge green eyes. She'd been told when he was born that he resembled her, and he did – the strong jaw, the coloring. But his eyes came from his dad, his hair from his mom. Mary was just an extra.

"It means he needs help," she explained. "That he can dish it out, but he can't take it."

"What?" Jesse asked, confused.

"Never mind," Mary said.

She often forgot that, although Jesse liked the same things that Sam did, he wasn't nearly as sharp-minded in some ways. He was very intelligent, no denying, but Sam had Marshall's influence and liked to be very precise. Jesse was much more commonplace in his activities. He just went with whatever was fun.

"You could go all double-agent on him," Mary suggested. "You know – switch sides and fight for the other team?"

"Mom, don't tell him that!" Sam burst from behind them and she forced out another chuckle.

There was another shift, Mary guessing that Jesse had torn off to do as instructed and battle dirty for his dad's side. Within moments, Sam had returned.

"Traitor!" he accused, but his voice held no malice.

"Sheriff, I only said that because I _know_ you can best both of them," she whispered to reassure him. "It's a hollow victory otherwise."

"Hey, you're right!" Sam decided, Mary wondering in the back of her mind if it was a good idea to feed his ego. He hardly ever acted on its consent though, so she figured it was okay. "Nice one, mom."

The approval endeared her more to him and she decided to wrap things up so he could get back to his game.

"I gotta get going, bud," she said.

"Okay."

"You go to bed when Brandi tells you to," she instructed. "Don't keep Jesse up all night."

"I won't," he promised.

"All right," she believed him.

Although the next words still didn't come as easily as they should, she knew it was important to voice them because truer phrases had never been spoken. She lived on them some days.

"I love you Smush."

"Love you too mom," he said automatically. Like his father. "Bye."

Without waiting to see if Brandi wanted to say her goodnights as well, he hung up the phone, leaving silence on Mary's end. Palming the Blackberry, she stared at it as if expecting it to come to life one more time, to bring her something she was missing, but it stayed dark and she eventually placed it onto the coffee table, delving into the bag of potato chips she'd brought to accompany the wine.

She couldn't quite explain her desire to get Sam back under the roof, why she felt oddly unsettled. She spent nights alone all the time – hell, before he'd been born that was her life; the way she preferred it. Something just felt different this evening, like some part of the puzzle was out of place. And yet, even attempting to get Sam to sleep at home hadn't erased that feeling. She wasn't sure where it had come from or what was causing it. Perplexing. Very.

Mary watched TV for a little while, checking her phone on occasion even though she wasn't expecting any calls. A little antsy and not used to having an evening to herself, she worked with the hum of the television, filling out boring paperwork. It helped keep her mind busy and functioning anyway, and that was something.

It was close to eleven, just when she was considering going to bed early, when she heard the knock on the door. The noise was a little startling – nobody ever came to her house without permission. As a US Marshal, it was essential her home be kept off the grid whenever possible. Who would come to call at eleven o'clock at night?

Switching the TV off and dumping her papers on the coffee table, she got up and pattered in her socks to the door. Splitting the blinds in two, she peered through the slats and caught sight of a shiny bald head underneath the glow of the porch light.

Stan the Man.

She reached to undo the deadbolt and pulled open the door.

"Hey," she said, a little surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Then she remembered his day's work of tagging along with Marshall to Las Cruces. She hadn't anticipated either one of them returning so quickly and if they had, they'd have headed straight to the office to get the paperwork started. She'd expected her husband to catch up with his other witnesses right after; that was the plan, to make the most of the time until they were back together again at the weekend.

"Where's Marshall?" she continued as he stepped onto the mat inside the door.

Stan sighed, hands in the pockets of his grey suit as he looked up at her.

"Where's Marshall?" she repeated, wondering why he wasn't speaking, why he hadn't even said hello.

Ice flooded her veins at the look on his face. Eyes dark and sunken with dread.

No. No. They'd made it almost fifteen years, eight without child and nearly seven with. She'd just been feeling off – it was nothing. It had to be nothing.

It hadn't happened. Those childish, frightening possibilities had not come true.

"Stan," she said sharply, for the man seemed to have become mute. "Stan. Where's Marshall?"

If she just kept asking, he would just stand there. He wouldn't say what she knew was coming.

Eventually, he did speak – in a low and empty voice, but it wasn't an admission. It was a question.

"Is Sam here?" he murmured quietly.

"No," she said at once. "He's staying at Brandi's. Why?"

She knew why. But she was the master of pretending, of faking it. All those old sensations were flying through her skin, pounding in her blood. She was a wizard when it came to denial.

"Kiddo, come sit down," Stan said gently. "Something happened on our way back from Las Cruces."

"What?" she demanded, not even wasting the time to think about it.

Stan only tacked on affectionate monikers when he was feeling guilty or especially sympathetic. She did not want either of those things.

"I don't have to be sitting for you to tell me," she stated firmly. "Out with it. What happened? Is Marshall okay?"

One last ray of hope. She knew the news was nothing she wanted to hear, but it could be minor. It could be nowhere near as bad as she was anticipating. She could hang on to that. Just for five more seconds, she could go on believing it was a negligible mishap and nothing more.

And yet, she didn't expect her boss to respond so bluntly.

"No; he's not okay," he murmured honestly knowing that even in situations like these, Mary wanted the unvarnished truth.

Mary just stared at him, green eyes floating back and forth across Stan's brown ones. She'd never actually noticed the deep, rich shade of chocolate they were. Like a mass of swirling coffee. How had she never picked up on that before?

"What happened?" she finally whispered, but with the question came the actual realization of what had come out of Stan's mouth.

Marshall was not okay. He was not fine. He was not all right.

Her breath quickened as she grasped this, trying to stay cool, trying to hang on to the façade she projected so well but it was Stan's hand on her shoulder that made all of this threaten to flood over.

"He was shot."

The tears came without warning; lip quivering stupidly, they rolled slowly down her cheeks and she struggled to speak, trying to draw strength from the warm pressure of Stan's hand but something wasn't registering.

"Where?" she blubbered in a constricted voice.

"Somewhere between White Sands and the highway to Roswell…"

"Where on his body?" Mary exploded, the mix-up making her uncharacteristically angry. It was an honest mistake, one Stan could not have anticipated, but it was riling her.

Stan had the grace to look slightly ashamed of his blunder, and went on.

"In the gut," he reported swiftly. "Through-and-through. Just like…"

He didn't need to finish.

Just like Mary.

This should've eased her mind, made her feel better, as she was standing here, alive and breathing after such an experience but she'd been lucky. Dershowitz had been on the scene when she was gunned down; she'd made it to the hospital in ten minutes; no time had been wasted. Stan and Marshall had likely been out in the middle of nowhere and stuck trying to get rid of the bastards who had caused the scene. It was different. It was not the same at all.

Strangely, her tears dried with the recollection. She felt outside herself. Something about this wasn't making sense, wasn't clicking.

"What do you mean he's not okay?" she asked, not really wanting the answer but knowing she needed it. "Of course he's okay. I was okay."

Denial. Again.

Stan moved his hand off her shoulder and onto her arm. Was this supposed to help?

"He lost a lot of blood," Stan explained. "It was a long while before we could get him help but they air-lifted him to Mesa Regional," the man explained as evenly as he could. "I haven't gotten details yet, but I understand that he…"

An uncomfortable silence, Stan shifting awkwardly.

"That he stopped breathing."

It was this that woke Mary up, that recalled her to the magnitude of these circumstances. Marshall had been shot.

He could die.

"No…" she shook her head, however, not knowing what else to do. "No…Marshall, he…" the words came of their own volition. "What happened…how did this…?"

The tears upset her further and when Stan didn't answer right away, the anger took over.

"What happened?" she was shouting now, Stan trying to placate her with a raise of his hand. "What the hell happened? Who shot him?"

Her voice seemed to ring in the entryway, to echo and follow her everywhere. And even as badly as she wanted to know the answer to her question, she was only half-listening as Stan explained that some of the cohorts working with the men their witness was testifying against had been lying in wait in the middle of the desert. They had intended to pop him off before trial, having gotten word of his removal to Albuquerque from an 'unknown source.' There had been three, and Marshall had picked off two before the third nailed him squarely in the abdomen.

"Did you catch them?" Mary wanted to know, and yet did not actually care at all.

"Yes," Stan said calmly after finishing his story. "They're being booked at ABQ PD. Delia is handling the witness."

Even as Stan laid out all the details, he could clearly sense that Mary wasn't quite processing it or putting it all together. The tears seemed more obligatory than out of fear or sadness, and he couldn't help wondering how deep in denial she had shut herself at the news.

The only thing that would refute this was the cold, hard truth.

Stan swept his arm around her back now, attempting to pull her close for sort of half a hug as he delivered the blow.

"He's really not in good shape, sweetheart," he whispered tenderly.

The term of endearment was routine anymore.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know if he's going to…"

"He's going to make it!" Mary burst, shaking him away.

The admission was too much. It did it. The tears poured now, running down her face, dampening her shirt, soaking into her skin. Her wail wrenched the tiny house as the weight of it all crashed down upon her.

"He _has_ to make it!" she altered her approach slightly. "He has a son! He can't just…!"

But the first phrase made her blood run cold and the words tumbled out without her consent.

"Oh God Sam…" she murmured, hands over her mouth. "Oh my God; what am I gonna tell Sam?"

The wetness leaked through the fingers concealing her lips and she sobbed freely now, the pain too intense to stop Stan from patting her back, from stroking her hair in the fatherly, genial way he always did.

"What am I gonna tell Sam?" she blubbered stupidly, over and over.

She couldn't tell him. She could not tell him that his hero, his father, was going to die. That his father was leaving him.

Not two days before his seventh birthday.

**A/N: It's just the beginning! Hope you like drama! ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: My love is BOUNDLESS for the reviews! Thank-you so much! **

**I must disclaim with this chapter, I am not now, nor have I ever been a doctor. Honestly, I did a little rooting around to try and make this as realistic as possible but I have no doubt I have glaring errors when it comes to the medical profession. If you ARE a doctor (and my hats off to you!) and you could just pretend I am not so inept, that would be fantastic. Because at this point, I really can't alter anything without changing the whole outcome of the story. So bearing all that in mind now and later, I beg you to be kind and forgive my mistakes! ;) **

XXX

The numbness that had persisted for all of five minutes that felt like five hours never returned. Stan drove Mary to the hospital, for she was too much of a wreck to get herself there. Once in the private waiting room he'd acquired, he sat with her, promising to stay until Jinx could show up. Her place was further out of Albuquerque and, although on her way, she'd still be an hour or so before she could get to the hospital.

Mary had never felt like more of a mess in her entire life. Every motion she'd once thought was programmed into her to be strong, to save face, to not fall apart completely vanished. No matter how she reached, she couldn't pull them back in. The realization that her life would be over if she lost Marshall was one thing. But when she'd remembered Sam, it sent her over the edge. He worshipped Marshall. He'd lose his mind when he heard the news.

So she sat with Stan, one hand over her eyes as the tears just continued to fall. They'd only received a minimal bit of information concerning her husband's condition. Like when Mary had been shot, the doctors had been forced to wait until her status improved before putting her in surgery to try and repair her damaged organs. According to the doctor that had spoke with her and Stan, Marshall's bladder and one of his kidneys had been hit before the bullet had exited out his back. Miraculously, the little sliver of lead had missed his spine.

Contrary to Mary's accident, however, he'd lost enough blood on the scene that they were much more concerned about his brain functioning properly. The prediction was that even after he made it through surgery, he would likely have to stay in a drug-induced coma until his brain activity returned to a normal level.

If it returned to a normal level.

And to top it all, Mary couldn't see him. US Marshal or not, nobody broke the barrier of the ICU, at least not before a major operation.

"Do you want something to drink?" Stan whispered as they sat side-by-side in chairs in the deserted waiting room. "Coffee?"

He persisted in patting her back, in trying to be comforting but she could hardly feel the movements. All she felt was the ache from knowing Marshall could die. Thus, she merely shook her head at Stan's question.

"Okay," he agreed kindly.

At this, she nodded, but she wasn't even sure why. Her elbows rested on her knees, hands pressed against her mouth so her boss couldn't hear the bawling that she was going to spill over at any second.

"He's tough Mary," Stan continued, trying to be of help, spinning circles on her back now. "I know he's in a bad way but if anyone can come through it, it's Marshall."

She nodded again, registering a little better the reason for it now.

"You hang in there too, kiddo," he reminded her, turning a little more serious and authoritarian with the suggestion. "Sam's gonna need you to pull him through this."

It was true, but Mary thought she had never been faced with a more daunting task. She needed Marshall himself to tell her how to explain such a situation. It was a cruel and vicious state of affairs.

"How could I not have known this was going to happen?" she finally spoke thickly, removing her fingers from her face for a second to get the words out. "Why am I surprised?"

It was a question that was tormenting her. As two US Marshals, the odds were against them. There was danger around every corner. Training, prowess, and intellect kept them from getting hurt but the risk persisted in the same fashion no matter what way you sliced it. She'd always known it was possible one of them would be put in a life-threatening situation that they couldn't scrape their way out of. How could she not have expected it?

It was every nightmare she'd ever had coming true. Fear didn't dominate your thoughts as an officer in law enforcement, but now Mary didn't understand how she could've been so blind.

"I'm an idiot," she mumbled through the tears that endured.

Knowing where this was going Stan said, "You are not an idiot. You're both very-very smart; but things happen when you…"

Mary refused to let him finish, another awareness coming to mind through the fog.

"I'm his partner," she bawled, unable to halt the flow.

"You're his wife," Stan reminded her gently. "The mother of his child."

"I'm his partner," she repeated stupidly.

For the first time in seven years, she just wanted to be his partner again. It might make this hurt a little less.

"I'm supposed to protect him."

"Mary…" Stan whispered, leaning in beside her so that their shoulders brushed. "You know that…"

His words trailed away at the sound of the door across the room and a hospital security guard extended his hand through the entrance. Both Stan and Mary looked up, waiting expectantly.

"Just through here…" he said.

Before Mary could put the puzzle together, Jinx dashed in looking harried and distraught but also resolute. There was a desire that lingered beneath her usual frantic demeanor that said she was going to attempt to be an adult in case Mary needed to fall apart.

"Oh Mary, sweetie…" she breathed as she entered.

At this, the inevitable took over; sobs renewed and fresh all over again. Her daughter stood, but it was the mother who threw her arms her child and let her cry. Underneath, a lost and spineless sensation trickled against Mary's heart, telling her that this wasn't really _her_ that was going to pieces, but she buried the thought.

"Oh darling…" Jinx pressed on as she rubbed her hair. "Don't worry. Not until we have all the details."

This was somewhat less than helpful but Mary was willing to believe her mother meant well to avoid answering. She saw Stan rise in the corner of her eye and she pulled away from Jinx, wiping her lids hurriedly to clear her vision.

"Where's Sam?" was her mother's next question.

"With Brandi," Mary responded, muddy and clunky in her words. "He was supposed to stay the night with Jesse anyway."

Jinx nodded at this, looking relived that was one hurdle they wouldn't have to jump through tonight.

"What can I do?" she asked, looking from Mary to Stan and back again, all ready to jump to the defense or put herself to work. It was still an odd color on Jinx, considering her many years of being helpless and drunk on her ass. But those days were behind them.

"Hate to say it, but wait," Stan replied with a sigh as he transferred his hand onto Mary's back once more, soothing motions meant to calm her slightly. "They're trying to get him stable enough to go into surgery. They stopped the bleeding but he lost quite a bit…"

Her boss stopped short seeing that Mary was likely going to lose it again at this declaration. Mary, not wanting this sugarcoated and explained in gory facets later, finished the thought.

"They're not sure he'll regain consciousness after the surgery," she whispered murkily with a sniff.

"Does that mean…?" Jinx began in a hushed voice. "That he'll be…?"

"Comatose," Stan picked up the thread as he rubbed Mary's back like his life depended on it. "Yeah."

Not bothering to cover, Jinx concealed her mouth with her hands in her shock, but had the sense not to become a basket case over it. Mary cast her gaze to the ground to avoid looking at this display. It was too painful. Everything was too painful.

"But people wake up from those," Jinx declared, a shining ray of optimism. "People come out of comas all the time…"

"Yes, they do," Stan assured her, but he was looking at Mary as he said it. "All the time."

Mary knew what he was doing, trying to show his conviction but she wasn't fooled. Marshall had to survive through the night, through all the instability in his vitals, and then survive the surgery and both were sketchy prospects at best. Any minute now his heart could stop beating.

Foolishly, his wife let a shuddering cry escape with this thought. Jinx attempted to pounce with affection, but it was Stan that Mary leaned into – he was closer. Sweetly, he kissed her hair lightly while she got the theatrics under control.

He could not die. He couldn't. He was somebody's husband – somebody's father. A brother – a son.

"I have to call Carolyn," Mary managed, hardly daring to believe she had neglected this. "I have to tell her…and Marshall's brothers…"

Why couldn't she remember their names right now, even as she pulled her Blackberry from the back pocket of her jeans?

"Mary sweetheart; I'll call her," Jinx offered. "Why don't you sit back down and try to rest a little while?"

This, of course, was out of the question but Mary was willing to let her mother pick up the slack as far as phoning Carolyn was concerned. What would she say to her? How could she explain that she wasn't there to keep her son safe?

"It's about eleven in Kansas," Stan checked his watch, seeing that it was nearly midnight. "She might still be up."

"I will take care of it," Jinx decided without waiting for Mary's approval. "Remind me sweetie, Marshall's brothers are…?"

Leave it to Jinx to want information Mary could not give her. What was the matter with her brain? The names were right there, on the tip of her tongue, and for some asinine reason she couldn't speak them aloud.

Thinking hard, head pounding beneath her fingertips, the memory came of Sam's first Christmas.

"Griffin," she said suddenly, relief flooding with the recollection. "And Julian."

And at once she remembered it all – for some foolish reason needed to share it.

"Griffin is three years younger than Marshall and…and Julian's five years younger."

"Of course," Jinx nodded in a coaxing manner, letting Mary say whatever she wanted.

"Griffin has twins – Sophie and Sarah…"

And they adored Sam. They just adored him. But she couldn't remember how old they were.

"And a little boy…"

He wasn't so little anymore, but why wasn't she computing, why couldn't she remember the face of the child who had pounded his feet, flushed with vigor toward home plate?

"Quinn," she reported, like she was giving testimony. "Julian has Daniel…"

He was a tough young man. Always willing to hold his own.

"And…and…"

Jinx and Stan were waiting so patiently as she just prattled like a moron, as she tried desperately to hold the faces of these children, tried to remember their ages, for they weren't between four and nine anymore. They were so much older, so much bigger, practically grown but she just couldn't recall…

"Claire. Claire's the youngest," she finished dumbly.

So clever. Marshall's Claire Bear.

"But I can't remember how old they are," she admitted.

Why the hell was this important? Why was she rattling this crap off like it had any bearing on the situation at hand? Who cared?

Stan, understanding as ever, stroked her hair this time.

"That's all right," he murmured. "We'll ask Carolyn. She'll know."

A shocking thought came to mind as Jinx tottered off to make the designated phone calls, Stan staying stationed with the blank-looking Mary. She was trying so hard to keep the Mann's near, to keep them close, to remember every little detail and say it aloud because she knew Marshall could die.

She could lose him. Sam was not his biological child. There would be nothing to tie them together.

She would lose them too.

**A/N: A little bit of a shorter chapter; most of the installments are a lot longer though, so take heart and I am so very grateful for all the reviews!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I really can't thank you enough for all the reviews. I am in the throes of a two-week teaching session with third graders, and while I am having a blast (I love me some kids) it is tiring, especially since I am not a teacher yet! The point is, it is so great to have all your kind words to come home to.**

**Anyway…bearing in mind, once again the, 'I am not a doctor' spiel from the last chapter (feel free to take another glance LOL!) here we go…**

XXX

It was the longest night of Mary's entire life. Magnified by a thousand after she had possibly the worst conversation in the entire world with Carolyn, who was so excruciatingly kind and understanding it made Mary feel painfully awful.

She was sitting alone in her chair, Styrofoam cup of un-drunk coffee resting on her knee as she stared into oblivion when Jinx crept back onto the scene with the phone. Stan, with many apologies, had to go down to the police department to give a second statement about the case.

"Mary?" Jinx called softly to her vacant expression.

She glanced up, looking right at her, but also through her all at the same time.

"What?"

"Carolyn wants to talk to you," she held out the phone like a peace offering, a bribe.

Blindly, Mary took it, trading the cell for the coffee, which she thrust into Jinx's hands.

"You drink it," she instructed. "I don't want it."

Her mother merely nodded and headed across the room, trying to give Mary some privacy. Mary herself tried desperately to prepare for the discussion ahead before putting the phone to her ear. Even once it was there, she just mouthed soundlessly for a moment before she managed to work any of the words out her lips.

"Carolyn?" she murmured, sounding croakier than she expected. She'd only just accomplished getting the waterworks under control.

"Hi honey," came the warm, soothing tone of her mother-in-law. She covered pretty well, but Mary could still tell she was crying. "How you doing?"

Mary shut her eyes, trying to maintain her composure and said, "Been better."

"Foolish question," Carolyn conceded with a bitter laugh. "How's my boy?"

Mary hoped beyond hope that she had better news, not for herself this time, but for Carolyn. This wasn't fair. This woman, this considerate and compliant woman did not deserve for this to happen to her child.

"I'm not sure," Mary whispered. "Waiting to see if he's up for surgery."

"Your mother filled me in," Carolyn responded quietly, sparing Mary the task of having to repeat the information. "Have you seen him?"

"No," she admitted, the thought making her choke up.

She just wanted to see him. What if she never saw him again?

Carolyn obviously sensed the question was overwhelming for Mary, who was unable to hide the tears that were flooding her cheeks all over again.

"Okay honey; it's all right," she assured her gently, tears of her own sneaking their way through. "Here's the plan…"

She waited briefly while Mary pulled herself together for the tenth time, brushing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"I'm on the first flight out in the morning; take-off is at 7:15," she reported. "I can take a cab to the hospital…"

"No," Mary interrupted, not about to let her put herself out that way. Her son was in Intensive Care for Christ's sake and she was catering to Mary. That wasn't the way the world was supposed to work – not for her.

"Someone can pick you up," she decided, grateful to have something to focus on. "My brother-in-law Peter," she decided, knowing he would step into the role once he knew what was going on. "He'll come get you."

"Thank-you," Carolyn accepted this appreciatively. "I'll let Griffin and Julian know; I'm sure they'll join me when they can."

Mary nodded even though Carolyn could not see her, guilt and remorse threatening to overcome her. She was supposed to keep Marshall safe. That was her job. She had botched it in the worst way possible; she felt more horrible and more wracked with sin than she ever could've imagined was possible.

"Okay?" Carolyn prodded when Mary didn't respond to her preparations.

She couldn't hold it in. She hated herself for succumbing to such weakness, but she'd completely lost control.

"Carolyn, I'm so sorry…" she wept unashamedly now, the buttons on the phone becoming slick with tears. "This is all my fault. Marshall's my partner; if I'd been there…"

She had to pause to take a breath; to avoid getting so worked up her mother-in-law might not even be able to understand her. Evidently, the onslaught of emotions made Carolyn well-up too, but her words were genuine through her tears.

"Mary, no. Nothing about this is your fault," she whispered thickly. "You and Marshall are always very smart about your jobs…"

Even without knowing what they did, she just assumed they were going about it the best way possible – forever seeing the good instead of the bad.

"If you'd been with him, you might've gotten hurt too and where would that leave Sam?"

She was being so _rational_. So rational when she had every right to completely fly off the rails. How the hell did she do it? Mary was too drained, too tired not to accept her words of wisdom.

"All right," she said with a nod. "All right."

"I'll see you soon, honey," she promised. "Hang in there. You take care of Marshall by taking care of you, okay?"

More lucid thought. Her husband wasn't gone after all.

"Yes," Mary replied, businesslike.

Knowing there was nothing left to hash out; she hurriedly hung up before she made a bigger wreck out of herself than she already was.

She was breathless like she'd run a marathon, like she'd taken a quick jaunt around the block in thirty degree weather. Her muscles were trembling and she took a deep breath in trying to wrap her head around coming together, even just a little bit.

"Mom?" she called, running her finger under her nose to keep it from dripping.

Jinx, it transpired, had engaged the night receptionist in light conversation as she drank Mary's coffee, but she turned at the sound of her daughter's voice. Mary waved the phone in the air, indicating that she was through and to come get it. Jinx pranced over at once, slipping the cell out of Mary's grasp and taking a seat beside her. There, she put her arm around the back of the chair and too fatigued to battle, Mary let her pull her head in so it rested on Jinx's shoulder.

"Carolyn on her way?" her mother asked, fingering Mary's hair.

"In the morning," Mary replied flatly.

"Good," Jinx nodded against Mary's temple. "Good."

Mary was waiting for the proclamation of good faith she knew was on its way, and Jinx didn't disappoint.

"He'll be all right darling," she promised unwisely, rumpling her honey-golden waves now. "He'll be fine."

"You don't know that," Mary nearly interrupted, shooting down the false hope in an instant. "Nobody knows if he'll be all right or not."

Sensing the sharpness of the tone, Jinx had enough common sense not to continue her shining beacons of positivity and kept quiet.

Mary did not have a clue how long she sat with her head on her mother's shoulder, hardly noticed the dull ache in her neck from sitting one position for too long, the digging from the blade cutting into her cheek. She didn't move, staring blankly through the room, long after she knew Jinx had dozed off unintentionally as the wee hours of the morning found their way into the room. Stan didn't come back; he was either hung up at the police station or had resolved to go home and get some sleep so he could be fit the next day.

All Mary could think about as she stared through the gloom was what to tell Sam. He would be so beyond devastated she couldn't begin to predict his reaction. He was Marshall's boy – his sheriff – and she didn't see how he'd get along without him.

He couldn't die. He could not die.

It was close to 6:30 in the morning – around the time Sam and Jesse would be getting up to go to school – when Doctor Seager, a man in his mid-to-late-thirties emerged for the first time since Marshall had been admitted. Despite the long wait for news, Mary suddenly felt an increased sense of apprehension with his reappearance.

Still, she stood without thinking about Jinx being asleep, knocking her head sideways. But it jarred her awake.

"Mrs. Shannon," Doctor Seager greeted her with a nod of his head and she did the same.

"How's Marshall?" she asked at once, straightening her top from her awkward sitting position, rubbing one of her eyes with her free hand.

Jinx was stirring as well, jostling her own clothing into place. Mary used this opportunity to get the introductions out of the way.

"This is my mother, Jinx Shannon," she indicated with a wave of her hand. "Marshall's mother is on her way in from Kansas. How's he doing?"

She said it all very quickly, nerves jangling beneath her skin which was prickly all over. Why was she so cold? She could feel every breeze that swept through the room giving her goose bumps on her arms.

"Still in pretty poor shape," Doctor Seager reported with a grimace. "But his numbers have climbed a little bit from where he was last night after we were able to staunch the blood loss."

"Okay," Mary nodded. "What about getting him in surgery? Do you think he'll hold up?"

Jinx, blissfully, remained silent next to her and let the pair of them talk.

"Not at this point," he admitted, and Mary's heart sank. "We've been doing what we can to build up his vitals but his system's too weak to tolerate very much. Right now, we're concentrating on preventing an infection from where the bullet entered his abdomen and hit his organs."

This was too much. How could this man just stand here and talk like he did this sort of thing every day?

Mary reminded herself that he probably did. Did that make it routine for her? It didn't.

"If we can ward off the infection and his numbers stay consistent, I may be comfortable putting him in surgery this evening," the man continued.

This evening? That was an eternity from now. What could go wrong in that amount of time? He could get worse.

Still, nothing was to be done from arguing and Mary resolved to press onto the next question.

"What about his brain activity?"

Her throat closed up at the thought. She couldn't breathe, could hardly even think. This was the be-all, end-all. Nothing else mattered if Marshall's mind was no longer.

"He is in a drug-induced coma right now," Doctor Seager went on. "And on a ventilator to help him breathe. He cannot survive without either at this point"

Mary was going to start crying again. In a moment of compassion, the surgeon soldiered on in attempts to bring better news.

"If we can get him through surgery and his vitals improve, he'll be taken off both to see if he can function on his own," he detailed. "But it's too early to say whether that is a possibility at this point."

So, he was going to die. For all intents and purposes, he was already dead if not for those ridiculous machines. This was the only way that Mary saw it. Forever negative.

"He's going to die…" she murmured what was going through her mind, but Jinx spoke for the first time in minutes.

"Mary sweetheart; no he isn't," she said firmly, yanking her around to look into her face, trying to capture her gaze. "You heard Doctor Seager; it just takes time."

That wasn't what Mary had heard at all.

"There's a ways to go yet," he admitted, Mary tearing her eyes away from her mother's to listen. "But he could absolutely progress throughout the day and be stable enough to head into the OR tonight. We'll just have to see; there are a lot of steps ahead."

She was done with this. She'd had enough. Nothing good had come from this visit; nothing was going to be done. She'd sat around all night for nothing and she was going to be damned if she didn't even make the tiniest victory from her stretch in the waiting room.

"I want to see him," she demanded forcefully. "Let me see him."

Jinx cast the doctor an anguished look and he sighed. Clearly, this was against his protocol but he obviously felt badly he didn't have a better report and looked to be on the verge of wavering. Knowing how she had sounded, Mary decided to sweeten the deal.

"Please," she whispered.

After another moment of hesitation, the man finally nodded in defeat.

"Briefly," he held up a finger of authority. "He still needs to advance quite a bit to have full-time visitors."

This didn't matter in the least to Mary. Now was now and later was later and right now, she was going to see Marshall. Dead or alive, she was going to see him. Following Doctor Seager back through the double doors which he had come in, she didn't expect him to interrogate her down the dank hallway of other critical patients.

"Do you and Marshall have children, Mrs. Shannon?" he asked.

"Yes," she said immediately, curious as to why he wanted to know. "We have a son."

"How old is he?"

"Six," Mary reported. And then she remembered, "Almost seven."

She wanted to ask him why this was important, why it had any bearing on what was going on, but she didn't have the energy and he didn't volunteer anything else so she kept silent.

In what seemed like no time at all, they'd arrived at their desired destination and Mary suddenly felt increasingly anxious. It was a morbid curiosity, a longing she had to feed but was fearful of expelling all at the same time. Before she could wrap her brain around this, Doctor Seager opened the door and without another word, extended his arm indicating that she could go inside.

Soundlessly, she did just that.

And there he was. Marshall.

Only, he wasn't Marshall at all. He was deathly, almost ghostly pale. He seemed smaller somehow, even though his long, lanky frame took up the entire length of the bed. They had him in one of those awful hospital gowns, the fabric concealing his partially closed wound, blankets on top. The ventilator was making a steady _chunk-chunk_ noise, a long tube protruding from his mouth. She'd never see him so still in her whole life.

Slowly, she stepped forward, legs shaking like they were made of jelly and didn't know how to hold her. Sitting down at his bedside, she refused to pretend he could hear her. She didn't know what she would've said to him anyway so she opted to take his hand, which was icy to the touch. Concealing his fingers in both her own to warm them up, she felt the tears sliding across her skin once more. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried this much.

"Marshall…" she whispered, not knowing why or what for.

Nudging herself forward in her chair, she gently laid her upper body onto his chest, careful not to place her weight on him. She clutched his hand as the tears wet his gown, the right side of her face pressed into the bones of his ribcage. Faintly, beneath them, she could hear the steady beating of his heart.

Thinking back to everything he did for her, all the ways he tried to make her feel better and help, only one phrase came to mind and she whispered it through the room, ethereal and filled with despair.

"Tell me what you need," she murmured.

She shut her eyes, daring anyone to pull her away.

"Please…tell me what you need."

**A/N: Mary's become pretty tried-and-true as far as Marshall's concerned; loyal to a fault! Sam ahead…stay tuned tomorrow! XOXO**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Evidently, I am making some of you guys bum hard LOL! I'm afraid high moments are scarce for awhile but I do try to work them in (not to give anything away.) I know when it's all sad sack stuff it can get depressing, but I am going for realism LOL! Thank-you again for all the reviews.**

XXX

There was nothing left to do once Mary got herself kicked out of Marshall's room to the reduce of risk of infection, as he was so susceptible. She wanted to stay and take up her post in the waiting room once more, but it was making her feel trapped and hot, plus she had yet to change clothes since the night before. It would've been different if they'd have let her sit at his bedside, but as this was not a possibility; she was making as much progress at home as she was at the hospital. Stan offered to hang out until she came back.

Therefore, she sat on the couch in her living room, hands pressed prayer-style in front of her mouth, trying to think about what on earth she was going to say to Sam. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and she was never home in the middle of the day, a concept that made this whole situation even stranger.

Restless on the sofa, she stood up and moved to the kitchen, hands splayed on the counter, breathing deeply toward the surface of the linoleum. She could see even through the reflection how awful she looked. Even though she'd taken a shower, her face was pale and sunken from lack of sleep and potential dread. She'd managed to get her tears under wraps for the most part, but had no idea how she'd fare once she had to break the news to her son.

She heard the key in the door long before she was ready, heard Brandi's voice speaking to Sam and Jesse, giving them instructions. She hadn't seen her sister since the incident, but Jinx had filled her in.

Looking up and trying to appear impassive, Mary saw both boys run in and toss their backpacks onto the couch she had just vacated. Both had pink cheeks from the nippy breeze in the air, jackets zipped to their necks.

"Hi mom!" Sam called.

"Hi Mary!" Jesse nearly repeated his cousin, as he was often known to do.

"Hi guys," she said dully, attempting to look as ordinary as possible.

They both exchanged scornful glances, uncanny images even though they didn't look a thing alike.

"You're supposed to say, 'Smoosh and Smush,'" Sam reminded her. "That's our alias. Or at least call us, 'Sheriff and Outlaw,'" he said with a shake of his head. "Come on."

Swallowing hard and surprised at the dryness of her throat, Mary nodded.

"Of course," she said. "What was I thinking?"

"I don't know!" Sam declared. She hadn't anticipated him answering.

Feeling so chokingly confined she was certain she might explode, Mary let her eyes flicker onto Brandi who was standing halfway between the living room and the kitchen with a very glum look on her face. Her eyes never left Mary's and the older sister knew what she was thinking – full of sympathy and pity.

"Why didn't you pick me up from school?" Sam asked, missing this exchange between his mother and his aunt as he pranced into the kitchen for one of his usual juice boxes. "You were supposed to."

"Got tied up at work," Mary lied easily, shutting her lids briefly so she wouldn't come apart. It was a thousand times more difficult than she could've ever thought to pretend things were perfectly fine.

"Oh," Sam replied with a shrug, shoving the straw into his juice and slurping loudly. "I told Jesse I'd race him in Mario Kart on the Wii," he reported. "He left it here when he slept over last. Can we play?"

Normally, Mary would've told him to do his homework first but at this point she didn't give a damn what he did. She just needed to keep him distracted while she figured out how to gather enough gumption to tell him what was going on.

"Sure," she murmured quietly. "Fine."

"Cool," he said, clearly not expecting the flexibility. "It's not like it matters," he hissed inconspicuously, one hand on the side of his mouth. "You and dad are always at the top anyway."

Woof. Mary felt like her son had socked her squarely in the gut by just mentioning his father in passing. She leaned over onto the counter, bending her elbow to ensure she wasn't going to pass out. Sam didn't notice, but Brandi did. Without Mary's awareness, she scurried over, standing right next to her sister but didn't touch her.

"Throw your juice away," Mary reminded him to save face. "I don't want it to get on the carpet."

Without answering, Sam did as told and immediately took off for the living room to join Jesse.

"I get to be Toad!" he sang.

"You're always Toad!" Jesse complained, sticking a hand on his hip.

"You can be Yoshi," Sam offered as he turned on the machine.

Mary had quit listening, intent on not spilling her innards all over the floor in her desperation not to become a weeping, sobbing mess in front of Sam. Brandi was quick when the boys weren't looking, pulling Mary in toward her for a sideways embrace and a few tears made their way out but Mary was determined not to let this happen before she was ready.

"Not now," she whispered urgently to stop more wetness from dampening her cheeks. "Not now…not here…"

Fortunately, Brandi obeyed this request and pulled away, giving Mary a quick pat on the back before tending to the sheriff and the outlaw, as they wished to be donned.

"Do you guys want a snack?" she asked from behind the couch. "Because dinner's going to be awhile."

Dinner – meals – seemed like a distant memory to Mary. Vaguely, she realized she hadn't eaten anything all day. She had no idea what she was going to feed Sam. She wondered if he would still want food after she delivered the news.

"Can we have those chocolate pretzels?" Sam asked, turning briefly from the game to appeal to Brandi.

Mary would've gladly said yes, but Brandi hadn't suffered the same shock and was feeling more balanced.

"You can have fruit," she said. "Orange, apple, or banana?"

"Orange," Sam said, maneuvering his controller this way and that.

"Can I have an apple _and_ an orange?" Jesse wanted to know.

As though from a past life, Mary knew this question came because Jesse wanted to do whatever Sam did, but he didn't really like oranges. He was compromising, trying to do both.

"Yeah," Brandi told him. "I'll slice some up; put them in a bowl."

With that, she headed back into the kitchen where Mary was still standing but before she could get started, the front door opened, already unlocked, and Peter walked in. The same greeting came from the boys as before, not taking their eyes off the television.

"Hi dad," Jesse waved half-heartedly.

"Hey Peter."

"Afternoon, men," he said, and then threw Mary a look so identical of the one Brandi had given her it was almost startling.

The dark, haunted eyes, dancing with empathy and compassion. She couldn't take these stares for much longer. She knew Peter had returned because Carolyn's plane had come in; he had likely already dropped her at the hospital to be here for the reveal. Mary had bit the bullet and asked him and Brandi to be present when she told Sam.

Deciding to use this opportunity to get out of the room and compose herself before everything came crashing down, she grabbed Brandi's arm, clutching hard and digging her nails into her sister's flesh.

Understanding, Brandi motioned at Peter to join her across the room. He was there in seconds, the three of them congregating even though Mary couldn't even manage to speak.

"We'll just be a second," Brandi said in an undertone. "Sam wants an orange and Jesse says he wants an apple and an orange but just give him two slices of Sam's; he won't eat any more."

"Right," Peter nodded. "Take your time."

He laid his hand on Mary's shaking arm briefly before his sister-in-law was dragging his wife back to the bedroom.

In the distance, like from another world, Mary heard Jesse shout, "Dad, Sam's cheating!"

She didn't know why she was still pulling Brandi, who was perfectly capable and willing to walk on her own, but she was so headstrong in getting to her destination she didn't stop to think.

Mary was in tears even before Brandi managed to shut the bedroom door. They streamed from her eyes like floodgates; the sensation was so accustomed now after the night she'd had. Once unable to cry at all, now she couldn't seem to stop.

"Oh Mary…" Brandi breathed sweetly, seeing her sister a crumpled puddle of chaos. "Come here…"

Not caring anymore how pathetic she seemed, Mary allowed her baby sister to pull her into her arms where she drowned the back of her shirt in droplets, like dew and rain on the sidewalk after a storm.

"It's okay…" the younger one murmured. "It's okay…"

It wasn't okay. It was never going to be okay again. Nothing changed the horror that had unfolded not even twenty-four hours before. There was no escaping it, no going back. Mary was beginning to feel like she couldn't breathe, like she couldn't go on.

Brandi must've heard how breathy she was becoming, because she switched tactics slightly.

"Mare, try to calm down a little bit," she suggested, pulling away and reaching up to brush the tears away from her eyes. "You're going to get sick."

Knowing there was a lot of truth to this; Mary managed to cough herself back into a rhythm, gulping a few times to settle down.

"Are you sure you don't want me and Peter to talk to him?" Brandi asked in a pleading tone. "He can't see you like this; it'll scare him."

For the second time, Mary understood there was fact in the phrase. Sam never saw her lose her cool. Although it should've made her angry that Brandi was putting stipulations on her emotions, she knew she was doing it because she wanted it to be easy for Sam and not a burden for Mary.

But nonetheless, she shook her head, "No. I have to tell him. He shouldn't hear it from somebody else."

Recognizing it wasn't smart to argue; Brandi merely nodded but still looked apprehensive.

"Squish I can't do this," she whispered, contradicting herself on the spot. "He's so happy. I am going to ruin his life."

"Mary," Brandi said in a voice laced with reason. "_You're_ not ruining anything. This just happened; it's nobody's fault. And Marshall _isn't_ dead," she emphasized. "He's alive. He could still be just fine."

Leave it to her sister to be eternally optimistic even when the circumstances were this dire.

"You don't know that," she rebutted, just as she'd done with Jinx the night before.

"Neither do you," Brandi insisted quietly.

"I cannot believe this!" Mary spoke right over her, not troubling to keep her voice down. "I am _so_ stupid – I should've seen it coming a mile away! Why did I _ever_ let myself think I could be lucky, like something good could last?" she raged. "The world doesn't work that way! It just doesn't happen…!"

Her tone had climbed several octaves and Brandi was suddenly putting a finger to her lips.

"Shh…" she jerked her head at the door.

Mary was about to tell her she didn't care, but Brandi went right on talking.

"The boys," she murmured. "They quit playing. Do you think they heard?"

She was even stupider than she'd thought. Brandi was right. The living room, once before filled with shouts and taunting had gone silent, the telltale sign of little eavesdroppers. There was nothing Peter could've done – if they'd heard, they'd heard.

Mary threw Brandi a look she hoped appeared slightly confident, as though she were ready. She wasn't, but there was nothing else to wait for at this point. It was now or never.

Brandi walked over and put her arm around her, affectionate as always.

"Peter and I will be there with you," she promised. "We can help however you want."

Mary didn't see how this was going to be possible, but an obstacle she hadn't considered presented itself in her muzzy brain.

"What about Jesse?"

"I'll send him down to that house on the corner," Brandi was quick on her feet. "That one family lives there – the Billiards or something?"

Mary knew that wasn't right.

"Anyway, they have that trampoline and the play set – they'll let any of the kids just walk right in," she shrugged as though this were the easiest thing in the world.

Resigned to the fact that this was going to have to do, Mary nodded, trying not to appear like too much of a mess when the door opened.

"Just do your best," Brandi told her, just before turning the knob.

Mary knew in an instant that both boys had definitely heard her shouting. They were still stationed in front of the TV, but their heads were turned in quiet introspection, staring straight at the door with uneasy looks on their faces. Peter was halfway between the living room and the arch in the hallway, like he'd been about to come in and tell them to quiet down, just as Brandi had.

Mary knew, just from the look on Sam's face, that all the resolve she had to be strong was flying right out the window. Like his father to a fault, he stood up, leaving Jesse on the carpet, and jogged around the couch, looking so concerned it broke her heart.

"Mom…?" he whispered, glancing from her to Brandi and back again. "What's wrong? Are you sad?"

Why was he such a sweetheart? What if he became stand-offish and unfeeling like Mary if Marshall wasn't around to teach him how to be kind?

Brandi made a quiet exit, going to get rid of Jesse, and Mary heard a distinct, 'Can Sam come?' in the beyond, but his mother managed to ward off the questions and send him on his way.

Now it was just the four of them. And Mary realized she still hadn't answered Sam's question.

"Smush," she found herself saying, falling into a familiar pattern. "There's something we need to talk about. You want to talk in here, in the bedroom…?"

She wanted to give him the option, knowing from her own experience that people wanted her to 'sit down' when they delivered bad news to avoid her going off the deep end.

He looked confused and also frightened, and Mary was hating this already. If he looked like this now, what was coming?

Wordlessly, Sam made his way back to the living room; his game on the television still paused mid-action. Predictably, he sat on the couch as his father would've done, contrary to Mary. Eventually, she allowed herself to follow; Brandi and Peter beat her to it and Peter sat beside him. Brandi occupied the space next to her sister on the coffee table, directly in front of them.

The silence was so unnerving. Yet shattering it was so much worse.

"Why are you sad?" Sam asked. "Why were you yelling at Brandi?"

"She wasn't yelling at me," Brandi shook her head, absolving Mary of the guilt.

"Yes she was," Sam argued. "I heard you," his eyes flashed to Mary as he said this.

Mary shook her head, deciding this could be explained with the rest of the story, figuring he could put the pieces together when he found out the rest, which was sure to be infinitely more upsetting.

She swallowed for about the third time as he just sat there and stared at her, big twinkly blue eyes matching hers.

Marshall's eyes.

"Sam…something…"

She was going to bust up. With an enormous effort, she put it to bed.

"Something…happened to dad. While he was working."

Sam knew the minimum when it came to their jobs. They joked with him that they were, 'cops with a twist.' He considered them undercover policemen, which is why they had to keep their secrets and so did he. But he was smart enough to know what being a cop meant. They'd had plenty of discussions about it. He'd seen the guns.

"What?" Sam prodded impatiently before Mary could get the rest out. "He's still coming to my birthday, isn't he?"

Oh, God. If this was what he considered a disappointment, he was in for a rude awakening indeed. Mary didn't miss Brandi and Peter exchange looks, but now that she'd started she had to keep going.

"Well bud…" she continued with another swallow, trying to avoid those piercing eyes of his. "You know how…dad and I try to help people, try to keep them safe…"

Although the rest of the family still hadn't been privy to the specifics of WITSEC, Mary figured this still didn't reveal much – not everything.

"And your dad was trying to help somebody…"

An unlawful. A druggie. Someone who did not deserve protecting.

"Trying to help…protect him from some bad men…"

"Like criminals?" Sam interrupted.

Shit. How could she have forgotten how intelligent he was? How Marshall had fused him with every bit of information available.

"Yes," his mother answered hesitantly.

And now he was getting it. He looked alarmed, like he was figuring it out, but was waiting to hear the words – waiting to be told this wasn't how it had happened. It was something else…anything else…

"And…Smush…"

She shut her eyes, nearly praying before the words escaped, feeling Brandi's hand on her knee.

"Somebody…shot him," she whispered.

Once unleashed, it was horrible. It was absolutely horrible. There was no going quietly about it. Sam was plainly aghast and wasted no time vocalizing it.

"Someone _shot_ him?" he burst, his little voice ringing in the tiny space. "Why?"

Why, indeed. Mary had no answer but it seemed it didn't matter, because Sam wasn't finished.

"I don't believe you!" he decided, jumping up and staring down at her with a look she had never seen on his nearly-seven-year-old face. It made him look so harsh; it was startling. "You said you're his partner and he's your partner and you make sure neither one of you gets hurt and if he was gonna get hurt you would've been there and you weren't so you must be lying!"

Mary's head was too clouded to wade through this logic at first, but as she closed her eyes in trying to process, Brandi came to her rescue.

"Sammy, your mom wouldn't lie about this," she said gently. "It's okay if you're upset. We're all upset."

Mary wondered what was to be gained from telling him this, but then realized. It was supposed to make him feel like he wasn't alone, yet Mary did not see this working.

"_Dad's_ not a liar!" Sam interjected with venom, emphasis on the first word.

This confused Mary also. What was he trying to tell her?

"Bud, of course he's not," she said as kindly as she could, feeling strung-out as the well-known wetness reached her eyes. "Why would you say that?"

"Because he promised he wouldn't miss my birthday!" he reminded her, like this would change everything. "And he never makes a promise he doesn't keep!"

"Sam, buddy…" Mary whispered, reaching out to take his hand in an attempt to pull him close but he shook her away, clearly not wanting any of it. "Dad wouldn't miss it on purpose. This wasn't something he could control…"

"But guns kill you! What if he dies?" the little one spat.

Hearing it spoken aloud wrenched Mary's insides, twisted them into pieces, leaving a bitter and sour taste in her mouth as she tried desperately not to be sick. But even as she made the solid stab at it, she couldn't keep it all in. A single tear fell from each eye as Sam kicked it up a notch.

"Is he going to die?" he demanded. "Tell me the truth!"

The words were spoken with so much intensity for such a little boy, but Mary could not deny him something he was asking for so desperately. She always wanted the exact same thing.

"I don't know," she answered thickly. "I don't know whether he is or not. He hurt some of the organs in his stomach…" she gestured at her own to keep moving along. "And he's missing a lot of blood."

Sam just stared, eyes wild and fierce with a determination she had yet to witness. Peter spoke for the first time, giving Mary a second to wrap it back together. Brandi rubbed her arm gently, listening to her husband at the same time.

"He's weak Sam, but he's hung in there so far," his uncle explained. "Your dad's a tough guy; he won't give up without a fight."

"Is he awake?" Sam asked, a little more calmly as he appealed to Peter and then Mary, "Can he talk?"

Mary was forced to shake her head, "No." And then, "It may take awhile before he wakes up."

If he woke up.

Mary had thought Sam might want to process this, to digest it, but he drove on, not about to quit until he got everything answered.

"I want to see him," he said next, sounding just like Mary. "Take me to see him!"

"Sam, you can't; he's too banged up…" she hated telling him.

Now she was crying. She'd kept the feeling in her chest as long as she could but it was out now, flooding with overflow, a downhill surge with a mind of its own.

"But I want to _see_ him!" he actually stamped his foot. "You _can't_ stop me! You can't!"

He'd had enough. He broke too, arms flailing madly at nothing in the thin air.

"He was supposed to be back for my birthday! He promised he'd be back! He promised! He promised!"

It was all he could say, working himself into a tizzy as if forgetting the others were there. The sight about killed Mary and she wept unashamedly as she stood up in front of him, ignoring his flashing limbs which were smacking every inch of her he could reach. She saw the tears on his cheeks that matched her own and without asking, without waiting for approval, she reached down around his waist to pick him up.

"Smush, come here…"

He didn't fight this time and allowed himself to be pulled into the air, into his mother's arms. She hadn't held him in a long-long time; he'd gotten too big, claimed he was too old. But sheltered against her, arms wound on both sides, she never wanted to let him go as they both fell to pieces in tears of agony and regret.

"Shh…" she whispered, not even knowing why. "Shh…"

He didn't quiet, and the words that spilled from his lips were the most heartbreaking of all, thick and heavy with tears.

"Why would somebody shoot dad?"

**A/N: Not to toot my own horn, but I adore Sam. I always wonder if authors can love their own characters, ones that they created, but I guess they can because Sammy boy really does it for me. Love to those who have reviewed! It means a lot!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: First of all, I have neglected to mention I do not own In Plain Sight. Of course, I do not. Second of all, thank-you all to pieces for the reviews. Hugs to all of you!**

XXX

Mary gladly would've returned to the hospital and held vigil for the next eternity if not for Sam. She knew it was no place for him to be, especially when she was certain he wouldn't be allowed in to see Marshall. If it hadn't been for Carolyn, she might've tried to go anyway but she felt better knowing his mother was there with him.

It took what felt like eons for her to calm Sam down. Although she had-had paramount trepidation about giving him the news, it had still been so much worse than she'd ever thought it could be. Really, how did you prepare to turn someone's world upside-down, to flip everything backwards and still try to fight your way through it?

Eventually, around six in the evening and without any dinner, he fell asleep in Mary's lap on the couch, exhausted from shouting and crying, trying to make heads or tails of the situation. Although he was heavy and with his head sprawled on her stomach while she attempted to stretch out, she couldn't bear to move him. The excess weight made her feel alive.

Peter had gone to fetch Jesse shortly after the reveal, given him the news, and taken him home, leaving Mary with Brandi and her nephew. Mary made hushed conversation with her sister for awhile, trying not to wake Sam, but she ended up dozing off against her will, the lack of sleep taking its toll and helping her fall under its influence.

In what felt like no time at all, however, someone shook her gently awake.

"Mary?" Brandi was whispering.

"Hmm…?" she muttered incoherently.

She could hardly talk with Sam on top of her; he was crushing her ribcage. He'd shifted in his sleep, head on her chest now, the rest of him curled in a ball on her stomach. Brandi had covered them with a blanket.

"What?" she murmured, still intent on not stirring him until absolutely necessary.

She blinked, saw the kind and innocent face of her young sister floating above her own, blearily but sharp all at the same time.

"Someone's here to see you," she informed her and before Mary could begin to process who it might be, Brandi stepped aside and the face changed.

Carolyn. A sad and sorrowful smile playing in her features.

Mary tried to sit up, to lean into the pillows a little more. Her back hurt from sleeping so awkwardly.

"Sorry I woke you honey," she whispered softly, leaning down to peck her cheek lightly. "Go back to sleep."

"No…" Mary shook her head, knowing she wasn't going to be able to doze off again anyway. "How come you came out? I thought you were at the hospital."

"I was," she answered, walking over to sit on the end of the couch, Mary shifting her feet out of the way, trying to make room. "But it gets old after awhile. I wanted to see how you two were holding up."

She caressed Mary's legs briefly as she settled herself down, also being mindful not to jostle Sam. Without waiting for Mary to respond, she provided the answer to the question Mary had been about to ask.

"Griffin and Julian got in a little while ago," she explained. "I left duty to them for the next hour or so."

Mary nodded, slightly grateful that more of Marshall's family had arrived to stand by him.

"How's he doing?" she croaked, voice not working quite right from sleep.

Above her, Brandi rumpled her hair and wordlessly went to the kitchen to get her some water.

"The same," his mother sighed. "But they may try to go ahead with surgery about midnight. They don't anticipate being able to fix everything on the first go around because Marshall hasn't built up enough stamina but they can at least get started."

"Okay…" Mary nodded. This was something. Not good, not great, but something.

"Did they let you in to see him?" she wanted to know.

Carolyn smiled softly again at the look on her daughter-in-law's face, ready to be angry on her behalf if the answer wasn't what she wanted.

"Yes," she murmured. "I sat with him about two hours."

"Thank Christ," Mary whispered without thinking, eternally appreciative that Marshall had not been alone. "I wanted to be there with him," she went on. "But I didn't think…it would just be too hard for Sam, not being able to go in…"

"Oh, of course," Carolyn was understanding as she patted Mary's leg. "That's no place for him; you can't do anything there. He needs to be here with you."

This obviously prompted the next round of questions just as Brandi returned with Mary's water. Handing it to her sister, she sat on the edge of the coffee table while Sam slept on, nudging his temple into Mary's chest in his dreams. Carolyn glanced at him and obviously couldn't stop herself from reaching out to stroke his hair briefly, to reminisce.

"How did he take it?" she asked, so quietly Mary almost didn't hear.

Yet the words seemed loud nonetheless, carrying more weight than volume. It was Mary's turn to spare a look for her son until she turned back to Carolyn.

"He was so upset," she finally admitted, murky and clouded like she might start bawling again. She couldn't meet Carolyn's gaze. "I did an awful job…he thought I was lying; he doesn't even trust me…"

"Mary, no you didn't," Brandi cut in kindly, extending a hand and rubbing her back lightly. "You did great."

"Honey, there's no easy way to tell your child something like that," Carolyn assured her.

"And he didn't think you were lying, Mare," Brandi picked up the thread. "Not really. He was in denial. Of course he trusts you."

Underneath, Mary had known that, known it was a way for him to deflect something so painful but it had stung just the same. To think that her son didn't have any faith in her was tormenting. He put his hopes into Marshall, who wasn't here to hold them with both hands.

"There's no way of knowing what someone's going to do when they get bad news," Carolyn went on in a steady voice. "They act out in truly bizarre ways sometimes."

Mary nodded, wanting to hear more so she wouldn't have to talk herself.

"I remember…Seth was shot in the ankle about a month after Marshall turned twelve," she recalled, even rolling her eyes back slightly to try and get a handle on the details. "Julian cried," she revealed. "Griffin hit me. Marshall ran away."

"Marshall ran away?" Mary was not afraid to show she was slightly stunned by this bit of information. Shouldn't he have been the one who cried? "Where did he go?"

"Nowhere very exciting," Carolyn shook her head. "But I thought for sure he would fall apart and he didn't. He stayed strong once before," she rubbed Mary's leg a second time. "He can do it again."

Mary bent her head to avoid answering, resting her cheek on Sam's soft brown waves, trying not to squeeze him tight and wake him up.

"How long has he been asleep?" his grandmother asked when Mary didn't respond.

"A couple hours," she answered. "Finally wore himself out."

"Bless his heart…" Carolyn whispered, taking her turn at tickling his back. "Such a sensitive boy. Like his daddy."

Unfortunately, the women and their inability to keep their hands off Sam took its toll. He began to shift back into consciousness, shaking his head, eyes pressed into Mary's chest so he didn't see anything at first. Slowly, tipping her chin, Mary saw him open his eyes. He was clearly confused about where he was and why, but the realization came quickly – quicker than Mary was even expecting. Pulling his hand out from underneath him, he rubbed one eye and blinked up into the face of his mother.

She had never seen him look more miserable. All the liveliness, the joy that was forever painted into his features was gone. It frightened Mary past the point of endurance, but she managed not to show it and tried to smile softly at him so he wouldn't be afraid too.

"Hi," she whispered, comforting and soft.

He chose not to answer, so Mary unearthed one of her own hands and pulled her fingers through some of the knots in his hair. With a pang, seeing him look up at her like this, she was reminded forcefully of the moment when he was born and she had greeted him the same way – simplistic and short.

Sam turned briefly and saw Brandi sitting on the edge of the coffee table; turned around like he was, he couldn't see Carolyn.

"How's my Sammy boy?" Brandi asked, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

Even Sam was smart enough to know that question was rhetorical, so Mary powered on.

"Hey…" she continued, patting his back roughly. "Let's go put your pajamas on so you can sleep in your bed. Been a long day," she added dumbly.

"Okay…" he whispered, surprisingly agreeable and then, to Brandi, "Where's Jesse?"

"He's at home," his aunt answered. "You can see him tomorrow if you want."

Mary would venture a guess Brandi was going to give Sam just about _anything_ he wanted at this point.

"Does he know dad got shot?" Sam wondered quietly.

Mary shut her eyes, having hoped for a little longer before her son put the pieces back together and remembered why he'd crashed on his mother's chest in the early evening, strung-out from sobbing and trying to make sense of something that would never compute. Still, Brandi was a champ in her response.

"Yep," she nodded smoothly. "He was pretty sad but he actually wanted to know if _you_ were feeling glum."

"What's glum?" Sam whispered, still in that confused and hushed voice.

Brandi smiled in an obliging sort of way, "Sad. Unhappy."

Sam considered and then, "Oh."

"Jesse's worried about you," Brandi continued, as though this would help anything. "You're his best buddy. In fact, I think he's making you a little something so you'll feel better. I bet he'll bring it over tomorrow."

In a heartbeat, Mary felt a stitch of compassion for her nephew. He was absolutely devoted to Sam. His elder cousin was everything to him.

"That's nice," Sam murmured in response to Brandi's story.

With that, Mary was sure she was going to cry. He was so much like Marshall it about killed her. In an attempt to ward off the tears another second, she rumpled the back of Sam's shirt and went on speaking.

"Before you go to bed, there's someone here who wants to see you…"

Mary inclined her head slightly at her feet where Carolyn was sitting; Sam shifted onto his elbows, nearly cracking her ribs, and turned around. Carolyn waggled her fingers quietly at him and even though Mary could only see half his face, she distinctly saw a grin escape. It was brief – the tiniest, most miniscule flash – but she was certain she'd be living on it for days.

"Grandma…!" he said softly, but the surprise still made its way through. Mary so admired the fact that Sam was still able to let something shock him in a good way – to please him.

"Get over here handsome," Carolyn said in a miraculous effort to hide her tears at seeing his face.

Sam scurried off Mary's chest and into her arms, where she held him tight, kissing the back of his head, rocking him side-to-side. Mary could see her weeping behind his back, but she hung on, determined to come together again before letting him go.

When Sam fell out of her grasp, he had on his best interrogative look.

"Did you come to see dad?"

Carolyn nodded at once, "Yes. I came to see him get better."

Sam nodded too, buying into it for some reason. Mary knew this couldn't last, knew his remarkable ability to compartmentalize in an unhealthy way came directly from her. She hoped she was prepared for the roller coaster.

"I came to see you too. And your mom," his grandmother added.

"You really think he's going to get better?" Sam asked, whipping his head around to face Mary and then turning back to Carolyn.

Mary and Carolyn exchanged looks of their own before Mary made herself answer.

"I hope so, Smush," she reached over and patted his shoulder, giving him the best answer she had.

He looked disappointed, there was no mistaking it, and looked down into his lap. Mary saw his lip quivering, knew he was going to cry again, and decided to get him to bed. It hadn't been just the two of them since the news had broken and for some reason she wanted to be alone with him. To share in Marshall's misfortune with no one else, even just for a minute.

"Come on bud…" she wiggled her legs out from under him and stood up, slightly unsteady on her feet, adjusting her top.

"Say goodnight," she suggested. "It's late."

Mary listened to him exchange sweet dreams with Carolyn, and watched him stand to do the same for Brandi. When he was through, she scooped him up again and he didn't object. She couldn't explain her desire to have him close, eye-to-eye, face-to-face, but she didn't care enough to work out the logic right now.

Without another word, she carried him back to his bedroom and helped him put on his pajamas – matching red with buttons in a print of baseballs. She didn't know why he had them; he didn't play sports, unless you counted fencing and she guessed ones in that style had not been in the store when Marshall had bought these.

Neither one of them spoke until he was safely tucked in and staring up at Mary from beneath the sheets. She had left the light on his night table on, bathing his face in a hush yellow, dulling his blue orbs.

Mary patted his belly beneath the covers, unable to make herself leave, until he spoke.

"Mom?"

"Yeah pal?" she was grateful for the excuse to stay.

"Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

Mary didn't hesitate. The answer was easy.

"No. You can stay home."

Sam nodded, clearly relieved not to have to fight his request. It was so like him to ask instead of make the demand, to pitch a fit to achieve what he wanted.

"What about Jesse?" he prodded.

"What about him?"

"Will he have to go to school?"

Mary wasn't sure why this was important, but Jesse was his best friend so she decided to answer.

"Probably," she figured. "But you'll see him after."

He nodded again, hands playing awkwardly around the collar of his pajamas, not meeting Mary's gaze as he obviously thought something over. His eyes were dark and vacant, definitely avoiding hers as he pondered. It was heavy, that was for sure. Mary could tell.

"What Smush?" she finally said without further ado. "Tell me."

He was quiet another minute, but what eventually came out of his mouth was nothing she could've anticipated.

"Are you mad at me?"

"What?" Mary bent as though to peer more closely at him, sure she must've heard wrong. "No. Why would I be mad at you?"

She distinctly saw him swallow, as though getting the words out was an enormous effort, something he couldn't manage without great personal risk. He was averting his eyes again and Mary leaned even further in, touching his chest rather than his stomach now.

"Sam," she said softly. "Why would you think I was mad at you?"

She expected him to take far longer to answer, considering his mood, but all the resources he seemed to have been pooling into his resolve ran out. Tears spilled from his eyes, darkening the edge of his sheets pulled to his chin.

"Because I cried," he choked out, breathing fast as he tried not to shed anymore. "Dad told me you hate to cry so I didn't want to; I wanted to be tough because I didn't want you to be angry but I…"

He plainly did not know what he was going to say to explain himself next, but Mary cut him off, too flabbergasted by this view to stop herself.

"Sam, no…" she shook her head. "That's not what dad meant at all."

Briefly, Mary wondered when Marshall had revealed this bit of information about herself to their son – not to mention why – but that was another matter all together.

Sam sniffled as Mary continued.

"I'm sure he told you that because…" she searched for the correct phrase. "Because he just wanted you to know that's the way I am. I used to think that crying made you weak – not strong," she clarified. "I still think that sometimes, but that _isn't right_," she emphasized.

"It's not?" he asked in a small voice.

"No," she said. "I'm still not very good at crying. I try to hold it in but when I heard about dad…"

Mary shut her eyes then, knowing how she had battled against the tears even in her darkest hour, fought hard to stay as her son had said, 'tough.' She never learned.

"I cried too," she admitted. "I'll probably keep crying – you saw me before, right?"

Sam nodded his remembrance. This was all Mary needed to keep going.

"Bud, if you want to cry and scream and get upset, you can do it," she promised and she saw him wipe his eyes at this, pulling a hand out from beneath the covers. "I would never get mad at you. It doesn't mean that you're not strong. You're the toughest sheriff I know."

She made a brave attempt at a wink, but it was half-hearted at best.

Sam was clearly too tired to continue the conversation, so he just bobbed his head up and down once more. Mary did not want to keep him from sleep, wanted him to be able to escape this nightmare as much as he could, so she quickly diverted to her next topic she knew she needed to pose before he drifted off.

"Listen Smush…I want to let you get some sleep, but I want to ask you something first."

He just waited, not knowing the right response so Mary pressed on.

"I really want to go to the hospital and be with dad," she admitted, honesty at its finest. "But I don't want to leave you here if you want me to stay. So I need you to tell me what you think is best. Would you be okay if I went down there and sat with him?"

"Why would you want to…sit with him?" Sam asked, clearly confused. "You said he can't talk. You said he's not awake."

"No, he isn't," she reinforced, almost sad he'd recalled. "But I miss him…"

She choked up then, exhausted as well, and just got on with it.

"I'd like to be there with him if he starts to get better – tell him things in case he can hear me."

"Do you think he can hear you?" Sam's eyes widened at this prospect.

Mary didn't believe Marshall could hear her – she was wholly cynical. But she couldn't bear to crush Sam, to let him down. She needed to give him something to hope for.

"Yes, I do."

When Sam didn't say anything, she kept on it, anxious to be on her way.

"Sam, I'll be going to the hospital a lot so long as dad's still there," she told him. "And I won't always be able to take you with me."

She was direct in her focus, and Sam usually responded well. Now was no exception, although he did look disappointed.

"You can stay with anybody you want while I'm there," she offered him. "Grandma, Brandi, Jinx, Uncle Julian and Uncle Griffin are here…I can even ask Stan…"

"Brandi," Sam decided at once, cutting Mary off. "I want to stay with Brandi."

This was no surprise to Mary really, since Brandi had Jesse but there seemed to be a different tactic behind it somehow, although she couldn't pinpoint what it was at the moment. Yet she didn't really care to figure it out – at least not now.

"Okay," she said. "I'll tell her. You guys can hang out tomorrow."

Sam nodded and slipped further into his pillows, indicating that he was about ready to drop back to sleep. Mary stood and ran her hand over his hair; watched him close his eyes. He was such an easy kid. So smart, so sweet – he belonged to Marshall. He was _all_ Marshall.

As she turned out the light on his bedside table and the room was swept in darkness, she heard his voice among the shadows.

"Will you tell dad something for me?" he whispered.

"Yeah," she claimed easily. "What is it?"

He sighed once, paused before revealing the words, but it was worth it when they came.

"Tell him that I'll take care of you while he's gone."

And though she fought the urge to hide, Mary was still glad her son could not see her tears.

**A/N: A tad bit lighter this go-around! Not exactly chipper, but without so many theatrics. Hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks again for hanging with me. You guys are great. A little bit of a shorter chapter this time – there's only two that I can think of that aren't so long, and this is one of them.**

XXX

Leaving Sam with Brandi as requested, Mary high-tailed it back to the hospital within almost an hour and a half, joined by Carolyn just in time to get some astonishing news. Griffin and Julian were in the waiting room, not where Mary expected them to be, both looking so harassed they didn't even bother to say hello to Mary.

Fortunately, the expertly maternal Carolyn wasted no time interrogating them.

"What?" she demanded, seeing the looks on their faces. "Out with it; the both of you. What's going on?"

Obviously, they did not need to be told twice.

"We were about to call you – they're prepping Marshall to go to the OR; we just got kicked out…" Griffin hurried to explain.

"Right now?" Carolyn pressed urgently.

"Yeah…" Julian glanced once behind him, but Mary didn't understand the demeanor.

"This is a good thing, right? Why are you both standing here like he just contracted the plague?" she demanded. "Is there something wrong?"

"I don't know…" Griffin reported, shaking his head but the clueless look on his face was enough to snap Mary in two. She had been gone almost all day, had entrusted somebody else to do right by Marshall and nobody had a clue what they were talking about.

"What _do_ you know?" she snapped harshly. "Anything? Were you listening? At all?"

Both brothers were taken aback by her brazenness and didn't hesitate to show it. Carolyn attempted to placate her, to save her from being any more insulting. Mary knew, vaguely, that she shouldn't behave this way with his family – they had as much right to Marshall as she did, but she was tired and unhappy and had wanted to watch over him herself, if only…

"Honey, its okay…" Carolyn murmured kindly. "I'm sure everything's fine; they told us earlier he might be going back in tonight; I just didn't think it would be this soon…"

Fortunately, Mary was spared the task of responding when Doctor Seager emerged and it was clear from his apparel – the mask, the scrubs – that he was most definitely performing surgery very soon. Dashing away from the three Mann's, Mary strode right up to him.

"What's happening?" she asked. "I-I-I'm-I'm sorry I wasn't here…"

Why was she apologizing to _him_? She wanted to apologize to Marshall, to say she was sorry for leaving when he'd needed her so badly.

"Never mind Mrs. Shannon; you're here now," he waved a no-nonsense had and then went right on speaking. "We've come to a decision regarding at least part of your husband's condition, in hopes of helping him to recover."

Mary did not miss the way he skated over saying that he _would_ recover.

"We're going to remove the kidney that was damaged by the bullet."

"Okay…" Mary nodded, anxious to get on with the rest. "You can survive with only one kidney…"

"Yes, you can," he reinforced. "This procedure is fairly routine for someone in good physical health but considering what happened to Marshall…"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh…" Mary wiggled her hands indistinctly, noticing that Carolyn, Griffin, and Julian had joined her to hear the rest of the news.

"It's typically a three-hour surgery," Doctor Seager backtracked slightly. "I am marginally concerned about Marshall's ability to withstand the trauma for that length of time."

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but he clearly saw it coming because he went right on with his spiel.

"However, I am also not comfortable letting him just reside with the damaged organs any longer; his risk for infection is too great at this point," he continued. "We need to get in there and remove any excess material – clean him out if you will – and we will do everything possible to keep his vitals steady and his numbers high while we operate."

This was not satisfying for Mary, not when he'd said he didn't have hardly any confidence in Marshall's capacity to hang on throughout the surgery.

"And if he goes into distress – what?" she asked sharply. "He just dies?"

Mary instantly regretted her bluntness with Carolyn standing there, but she took it in stride, seemingly accepting the blunder as a result of stress or worry.

"We're going to do everything we can to make sure that isn't an issue," Doctor Seager answered the first question. "But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it; we'd shock his heart, close the wound early…" he shrugged. "We'll just see how it goes."

All the vague details were infuriating to Mary, but she knew there was nothing to be done at this point. Either he got operated on and risked not being able to hang on long enough to survive the outcome, or he stayed dormant and got a life-altering infection. Some choice.

"Would you let me see him?" she asked. "Just for a minute, before he goes in?"

"She hasn't seen him all day," Carolyn chimed in, and Mary felt a rush of gratitude for her mother-in-law.

"He's already been prepped and ready to go," the doctor explained. "He's scheduled to go down in about five minutes, so that's all you've got."

It was better than nothing. Mary headed swiftly through the double doors behind him, taking the familiar route of the day before; beneath it all disappointed she would not get to spend more time with him. If he'd been awake he would've wondered what the hell her problem was. He was on his death bed and she'd hardly seen him.

She very nearly blasted through the door, which made the good doctor smart enough to leave her be.

Marshall looked just the same as he had the day before – still, silent, long tube out his mouth, heart monitor beeping, the whole bit. The stubble on his chin was getting thick and she would have to remember to get someone to shave him – or she could do it.

Seeing him like he was made her tear up all over again, weep a little more freely, tears fresh and sparkling on her cheeks. She sat beside him and put her arm around the back of his head, leaning hers into his temple. She breathed slowly – a little loudly – out her mouth to try and remember how, to make sure she kept up the steady stream. One of them had to.

"Marshall…" she whispered, just as she had the last time.

Yet she didn't know what to say after that – how to express what she was thinking, what words she could use to explain how badly she needed him to hang on.

She shut her eyes, tears leaking out around the edges and allowed her free hand to crawl onto Marshall's arm beneath the covers, feeling his flesh on hers.

"Marshall, I don't know if you can win this fight," she whispered, tone choking on every single word.

She turned her head ever-so-slightly so that she stared into the side of his head, pressed her lips to his temple. She just left them there – a long and sheltering kiss that she couldn't pull away. When she managed to, she murmured in his ear, as close as she possibly could.

"Please-please hang on…" she said so quietly the words nearly didn't come. "Sam needs you. You're his dad. He can't lose his dad…"

It took her back to her own horrifying memories of losing her own father at exactly Sam's age – vastly different and eerily similar all at the same time.

"He thinks he has to take care of me…"

Although the phrase had broken her heart not long before, she realized her son's desire stemmed from something much deeper. And she didn't express her gratitude nearly often enough.

"You taught him way too well, doofus."

She couldn't laugh at the teasing nickname as she kissed him one more time, knowing she couldn't dwell, knowing he had to go.

"I'll be waiting," she murmured. "I know I put you through a lot of shit the last fifteen years, but please don't quit…"

The sobs came, returned in full-force, no holding back, no-holds barred.

"Please don't give up."

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, again. They make me very happy!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Not much to say except…keep reading! ;)**

XXX

Although Mary gained a lot of comfort from Marshall's family and was very grateful they had flown out to Albuquerque to be by Marshall's side, she still felt a sense of loneliness as they whittled away the hours during his surgery. She couldn't help wondering what was going to become of them if Marshall didn't make it; if they would write her off, nothing left to bind them together any longer.

Eventually she became so antsy she knew she was going to have to leave the waiting room all together, which about an hour in included Jinx, trying desperately to be of help which Mary could not accept. Trying not to look at the hurt and pleading look in Carolyn's eyes, she claimed she needed some air and headed out into the cool and starry night.

Her chosen spot of seclusion was not exactly brilliant. There was a cluster of abandoned picnic tables in a sad-looking courtyard near their wing and she stationed herself there, the wooden of the bench hard on her ass. She faced outward, back against the rough plank, staring up into the darkness of the sky above. The air smelled crisp, but smoky like someone nearby was burning leaves or roasting a bonfire. Both possibilities seemed unlikely, as it was almost eleven o'clock at night.

Mary was unsure how long she sat, pondering everything and yet nothing at all. What would Marshall think if he knew she were out here all by herself while his family held a proper sentry? She was a coward – that was what she was. Too afraid to stay, too afraid to go, somewhere perpetually frozen in the middle and unable to get out. Ditching his relatives, snapping at Jinx, delegating duties to Brandi…

Making her son cry.

In so many words, no. But that was the gist, and Mary wouldn't soon forget it.

All of this tumbling through her mind, she was startled to hear footsteps among the fallen leaves and turned her head to find Stan gliding smoothly into her midst, hands in his pockets.

Mary expected the same want to be alone would overcome her at the sight, but the presence of her boss seemed to spark something else in her. Suddenly, Stan was a treasure to behold. He'd been with Marshall. He'd sat by his side while he very nearly bled to death. It had to be thanks to him he had even made it this long.

If Marshall died, Stan would be the face he'd remember as he slipped beneath to a place he couldn't crawl back from.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked when Mary didn't voice any of this aloud. He was soft-spoken and gentle, careful not to push.

Mary nodded and he advanced, slipping onto the bench beside her. Without warning, Mary felt a strange urge at having him so close, and nudged into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Stan obviously found it unprecedented, and didn't hesitate to share it as he shifted to give her more room.

"Aren't you sweet," he remarked, deciding to press his luck with the comment.

Mary found herself chuckling briefly. It was not a word one usually used to describe her.

"Comes and goes," she said in return. "I wouldn't trust it."

Stan took his turn at chuckling then and reached over to pat her hair.

"I was definitely warned on coming out here," he admitted. "But I decided to take my chances. If Marshall had anything to say about it, he most certainly wouldn't want you to be by yourself."

The familiar phrase, 'I can take care of myself' threatened to spill from Mary's lips, but she restrained herself. She knew Stan was right.

"They give you the update?" she asked instead, referring to those still in where it was warm.

"Chucking the kidney," Stan replied swiftly. "Who needs two anyway, right?"

Mary knew he was trying to make light of the situation so she wouldn't worry, to not make it seem as bad as it was. She wasn't buying it and she was fully aware that, underneath, Stan wasn't really going to sell very hard. Nobody convinced Mary of anything she didn't believe. He'd learned that a long time ago.

"I probably should've stayed," she went on; head still lopsided and sideways on Stan's shoulder as she stared through the shadows, flashes of red and blue splashing into the corner where they sat.

"Inside, I mean," she clarified. "With Carolyn. But I just…" she shook her head as well as she was able. "I just don't…"

"It's okay," Stan assured her before she could manage to finish, rubbing her hair gently. "I think they understand. You're a loner, inspector. You work things out on your own."

It was tactful of Stan to realize it, to say it, but Mary knew, as he'd said earlier, that Marshall wouldn't want her to shut herself away. As hard as she tried, she just couldn't help it sometimes.

As if on cue, a chill breeze swept through the trees above, causing the scattered leaves to dance and Mary to shiver involuntarily and against her will.

"Jesus…" she murmured in surprise, forced to pull out of Stan's grasp to rub her arms and attempt to warm up. "You'd think it was dead winter…"

"Here…" Stan muttered.

Without asking if she even wanted it, he worked his arms out of the jacket of his suit and draped it around her shoulders. This left him in his shirt sleeves and a dark green tie. Mary wanted to tell him he was being foolish, that she didn't need a bunch of mollycoddling, but it wouldn't fly and it wasn't even true. Not anymore. She'd come so far from where she'd started; she didn't even feel like herself anymore.

"Who knew you were such an old school gentleman?" she decided on, and her chief fed her a soft smile.

Silence fell between them then, Stan scanning the darkened ground absentmindedly, Mary letting her mind drift – letting it wander as she stared through the gloom, seeing it but not seeing it all at the same time. There was a lot on her mind, too much to voice, too much to even think. She was exhausted from having cried so much; not used to expending those parts of her system she never used. Yet she thought if she didn't say something to Stan – and soon – she was likely to fall apart anyway.

"Did he say anything?" she whispered, unable to look at him when she finally spoke.

"Did who say what?" Stan asked gently, leaning in to peer at her more closely.

"Marshall…"

And the battle was lost. She began to cry again, the sensation very near to a familiar blanket now. She allowed the tears to fall, not even bothering to wipe them away.

"When it happened?" she looked at Stan then, eyes swimmy and large, shiny and wet.

"No, sweetheart," Stan reached out to rub her back, disappointed to have to reveal the blow, trying to soften it with the affectionate term. "He lost consciousness as soon as he was hit; he couldn't have said anything."

Mary nodded; knowing as much had to have been true, knowing the same thing had happened to her when she'd been shot in the abdomen.

"But it's probably better that way…" Stan tried to be positive, still caressing, Mary feeling ludicrous all of a sudden in his coat. "He would've been in a lot of pain if he hadn't blacked out; it's best he didn't feel anything."

All Mary could do was nod, trying to stop the flow coming from her nose now, not wanting to drip all over Stan's jacket.

"I hope he wasn't scared," she said stupidly, like Marshall was a little kid, like he really hadn't known what he'd gotten himself into.

Although Stan's next words proved this, he didn't make her feel worse.

"Nah," he shook his head. "Marshall's tough. He knew the stakes. Unfortunately, it comes with the territory."

A third nod from Mary as she digested that. She felt so confused. She wanted to be here, to be with Marshall and to stay by his side until he opened his eyes and returned to the world of living. But at the same time, she wanted to run away, wanted to hide, to hold Sam close, to make sure he wasn't going to suffer the same fate she had when her father had left. Whether they were the same circumstances or not.

"I'm a crappy partner," was her way of voicing this. "But I'm an even worse wife. I can't even decide if I want to stay or go, if I belong here or there…" she shook her head back and forth. "What kind of person…?"

Stan was adept at breaking her off, halting his rhythmic circles on her spine.

"You have had a rough couple of days," he said. "I would say that's the understatement of the century. Your husband is fighting for his life; you've got a son to take care of…"

He shrugged, as though hoping the phrases would explain themselves.

"Cut yourself some slack, inspector," he advised. "No one should have to go through something like this."

Mary didn't like being meshed in with a bunch of other people who had suffered some sort of traumatic incident, but she knew Stan hadn't meant it the way she'd taken it, and he was still speaking so she didn't have to say anything anyway.

"I understand Mini Marshal Marshall didn't take it so well," he murmured quietly.

Among the many nicknames of Sam, Mini Marshall wasn't one Mary had latched onto – too many M's – but she found herself enjoying it this time around. With everything that had happened, she'd noticed just how much Sam was like Marshall. His double.

Yet even with the pleasure of the comparison, Mary felt more tears rolling as she tried to relay Sam's reaction to her boss.

"It was awful…" she said in a constricted voice that did not hide the tears. "He had a complete meltdown…"

And the avalanche, the cascade couldn't be stopped. They rained – they poured.

"He cannot lose his dad," her wail shook the area around them loudly, just as the sirens in the distance. "He needs his dad…"

Weeping softly, she allowed Stan to pull her back into a side-embrace, the warmth of the coat making her feel uncomfortably hot now as her cheeks flushed in the presence of more tears.

"Yes, he does," Stan conceded, and Mary sensed him about to continue but she didn't let him.

"Marshall's everything to him…" she whispered faintly, and it was Stan who interrupted this time.

"You know that isn't true," he said, almost exasperatedly if not for the circumstances. It took Mary back, as though from a past life, to his tough no-nonsense boss voice he used when his two inspectors were fooling around.

"He has still has you, kiddo," he went on with a particularly hard squeeze of her opposite shoulder. "You act like you're some stranger off the street, Mary. You're his mother…"

As if she needed reminding.

Oh, wait. She _did_ need reminding.

"He loves you. He loves _both_ of you and he needs you _both_."

It didn't get much truer than that. That had been Mary's goal from the beginning, since she'd found out she was pregnant with Sam. Not one, but _two_ parents and not _just_ two parents, but two parents who not only loved their child, but each other as well.

"Mary, you're a good mom," Stan said kindly, clearly wanting to boost her spirits. "I know you think you suck – Marshall's told me – and that you still feel guilty you were going to give Sam up, but that's been seven years now. You've come a long way since then."

All the sap he was oozing was getting to Mary, but not in the way it usually would have, where she would feel the need to snark and make fun of him. It just made her bawl like a baby, like some pansy who had absolutely no control over her emotions. Whatever she told Sam, she still hated losing her cool, no matter how dire the situation.

Sensing his inspector was not going to be able to say much, still with his arm around her, Stan dived on in his attempts to make her feel better.

"Maybe Marshall couldn't say anything when he went down, but I did…"

"What do you mean?" Mary said quietly, trying to get herself back under control.

"I wanted him to hang on, so I just prattled off everything under the sun I could think of – mostly to keep myself calm," Stan added with a bitter laugh.

Mary knew only too well how frightened she had been when Marshall had been shot the first time, and he'd been conscious then. What Stan had endured, she couldn't begin to imagine. She likely would've been sick if she'd been with him.

"But I told him to think about you, 'Think about Mary' I said…"

If her boss was going to keep talking, she was never going to quit weeping.

"I sat there like a crazy person, saying it over and over, 'Think about Mary – think about Sam. Stay with me inspector…'"

Stan's voice trailed away then, obviously lost in the memory he had unintentionally created for himself. It was haunting him more than Mary had realized and it dawned on her that she had not even been gracious enough to thank him for quite possibly – most definitely – saving what was left of Marshall's life.

"He wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for you," she pulled away, as to look at him properly and fixed him with the hardest stare she could muster in her current state. "I am long overdue…" she swallowed. "But I owe you _my_ life for that."

Stan shook his head, but an appreciative smile played on his face even through the dank, dark air.

"He loves you kiddo," he patted her shoulder roughly, again with the term of endearment. "No matter what happens, you've gotta remember that."

Mary hadn't realized she was still crying when the door beyond – the one that led them through the back hallway to the waiting room – eased open and Griffin stuck his head out. Both she and Stan whipped around at the sound, waiting expectantly when they saw who it was.

"Marshall's out of surgery," he called across the gloom. "I don't know what happened; Doctor Seager said he'd be out as soon as they moved Marshall back to a room…"

Mary didn't need to hear anything else; she flew up from her seat, Stan behind her, fumbling the coat Mary threw him, and they joined Griffin in a few quick steps. Unfortunately, she didn't have a clue how she looked in the bright fluorescent lights in the hallway, but she must've been a sight because even as she wiped her eyes, she saw Griffin looking at her skeptically. If she hadn't known about his aversion to crying women, she'd have thought it was concern.

As it was, he narrowed his eyebrows and said, "You okay?"

It was pretty obvious from her red-rimmed lids and her narrow escape from the family that she was not, but it was nice of him to ask.

"I'm fine," she said automatically, forcing herself to keep walking along with him. "I just don't know if it's good that he's out early – if something went wrong. How long was I…?"

Mary allowed her voice to taper away, unsure how much time she'd spent outside; she'd lost track in the dark and the thoughts dominating her brain.

"He was only about fifteen minutes under three hours," Griffin reported, Stan leaning in to hear better as they continued their jaunt. "That doesn't seem too bad. Right?"

He looked nervous too and Mary tried to remember he was Marshall's brother, he had every right to be worried; she did not 'own' her husband nor reserve the status to be the only who cared about him.

"Sure. Maybe," she said vaguely. "I don't know."

That was helpful. She resolved to do better, and quickly, so they could move on.

"I'm sorry I was short with you earlier," she lamented, nearly in one breath. "I'm sure this is hard for you too."

Griffin was clearly thankful for the leeway and nodded his understanding – his forgiveness.

"It's not a problem," he said, absolving the regret. "Truce?"

She was pretty sure she'd heard that from Griffin before.

Doctor Seager was already in the waiting room when the three of them arrived, standing with Jinx, Carolyn, and Julian, all of whom were looking anxiously the direction Mary and the others had emerged. Mary guessed they'd been waiting on her to get the update, and she would have to remember to stay closer next time so they didn't have to go through it again.

"What's the story?" she asked once she'd made it across the room. "How'd it go?"

There seemed to be a pause, a hitch in the response, a moment where time stopped and held them all as one, waiting for the news to be unleashed. In reality, Mary knew this was not the case, but she felt defined by the words that were about to come out of this man's mouth. It could've gone badly. It could've gone the way it was supposed to. Nothing could've been accomplished at all and they could be right back where they'd started. What was there to hope for?

"We were able to remove the damaged kidney…"

A collective sigh sounded through all three Mann's; Carolyn looked a little weak at the knees and Mary, in a moment of compassion, reached out and patted her shoulder. She could not forget how difficult this was for her too; could not just sit and let herself be taken care of when this woman's son was in such poor shape.

"We were also able to attest to the fact that his remaining kidney is functioning properly. Initially, I was concerned Marshall might need a transplant if his lone kidney was in any way affected but it seems that won't be the case for now…" he went on. "Well have to see how he holds up, but I'm optimistic, at least on that front."

Mary felt her heart ballooning slightly. Could this mean he would be all right? Was this horror of horrors coming to an end?

"While we were operating, we were also able to repair his damaged bladder…"

"But you finished early," Julian interrupted. "You had time to do that?"

"I concede we were working quickly to try and minimize the amount of time Marshall spent on the table due to the trauma he suffered," Doctor Seager explained.

Mary had heard all this before and did not care to hear it again – Marshall's ability to withstand and all of that.

"But everything went smoothly on that front as well," he continued. "At this point, my main concern is his brain activity."

And the balloon burst. She was an idiot. A complete idiot. It was not over at all. It was not over until Marshall opened his eyes and proved he was still Marshall.

"The amount of time he spent without oxygen combined with the blood loss and the fact that he needs a ventilator to breathe…"

"So, what?" Julian seemed to be the only one capable of speaking as everyone else just stared, dumbfounded. "How are you going to be able to tell if he's got a high…brain level, or whatever? How can you fix that?"

Mary wished he had not asked that. There was no way to fix it. None at all. Not if the time had already passed for mending those fences – the oxygen had already evaporated, the blood had already been lost.

"We won't know until he wakes up," the man admitted.

"And when will that be?" Jinx opened her mouth, clearly tired of all the round-and-round they were having to go through.

"I don't know," Doctor Seager said, so bluntly Mary was surprised. He'd been so delicate up till now. "Being in a coma means his brain is functioning at the lowest stage of alertness. We can try to bring him out of sedation, but that's further down the road. Should his vitals improve as well as his brain activity, he should wake up."

Looking at all their stunned faces, he decided to just keep going in an attempt to wrap up the explanation.

"It just depends on his progress. We'll have to wait and see."

Every wishful feeling Mary had foolishly allowed to enter her mind flew right out of her again. He could never wake up if he didn't improve. Even if he did, who was to say he would be the same person afterwards? She had not missed this man brushing over that part of the diagnosis.

"Our next move is to suture his wounds completely closed – the one in his abdomen as well as the one in his back – but we're going to give him time to recover before we do that," Doctor Seager prattled on.

Mary scarcely heard him.

"All things considered, he did very well. His capability to survive the surgery without additional problems says a lot."

If he was trying to sunny this up, it didn't work. Seeing that his work was done, he informed them Marshall would be able to have visitors within the hour, and bid them goodnight.

The minute he was gone, Mary felt lost, not to mention completely apart from Carolyn, Griffin, and Julian. She didn't even know why. It was as though, when their world was torn apart, it split them in two as well. She, Jinx, and Brandi on one side – Carolyn, Griffin, and Julian on the other with Stan somewhere in the middle, straddling the border. She didn't know where it came from, but she still felt she was to blame for this entire ordeal, that there had to have been some way she could've prevented it. Superman or not, it was all-but down in her contract to protect Marshall and she had failed.

She hated to fail.

"Mary darling…" Jinx was twittering at her elbow, obviously noticing the vacant expression on her face.

But other words were the ones that caught Mary's ear.

"Mom, don't cry, come on…"

"Mom, it's okay; he'll be okay…"

"Marshall's tough…"

"Like a horse…"

A horse. A horse. Sam loved horses.

She was crying. Carolyn was crying. What should've been a victory was a loss in so many other ways.

"Mary, don't count your chickens before they hatch on this…"

And there was Stan with his infinite wisdom, trying to be helpful, Jinx invading her space and trying to hug her while she just stood there weeping like a moron.

She shut her eyes tight, squeezing the tears against her lashes, willing herself to merge the two worlds. Willing herself not to let Marshall's defeat become her own. They had to stay together. She had to be there for his mother as much as she was there for her. He would do the same, wouldn't he?

"_You know you're practically a Shannon, right?"_

"_Of course. You are mine and I am yours."_

She could've sworn Jinx had hit her on the back of the head with a two-by-four.

"Carolyn…"

Like she was walking on water, gliding on stones, sliding swiftly through space she couldn't see, Mary parted the breathing room between brothers and guided her tearful mother-in-law into her arms.

It wasn't the best of hugs. Both of them were a mess and Mary was new at initiating the contact. She hadn't had a lot of practice. But she reminded herself it was for Marshall. It was the only thing that was going to get her through.

"That quack is talking about _normal_ people's minds," she decided as she held her. "He doesn't know Marshall's too damn intelligent for his own good. He has plenty of room to spare for error."

Miraculously, the woman actually laughed, becoming shaky in Mary's grip and she pulled away. Griffin and Julian were chuckling as well, seeing that it was safe to do so. Carolyn reached out and wiped the tears from Mary's cheeks; her daughter-in-law had to look at the ground, embarrassed, and found herself falling back into Stan to relieve the stress. Even Jinx's dog-patting touches on her hair felt okay.

"We have to stay positive," Carolyn decided with a resolute nod. "For Sam. He needs to know we think Marshall's going to be okay. And he's come this far…"

That much was true. At the mention of Sam, Mary found that she ached for him as much as Marshall – the only part of Marshall she had at the moment.

"What do you guys want to do?" Griffin asked, turning from one group to the other. "Stay? Go?"

Mary had to be honest. Now wasn't the time not to be.

"I want to go home," she requested childishly. Absurdly, it made her shed more tears – just the comfort and safety of her own house. "I need to go home…"

She threw Carolyn a pleading a look, but she needn't have done.

"That's perfect, because I want to stay," she whispered warmly, leaning over and pecking her cheek briefly. "Get some rest, honey. Take care of Sam; we'll hold down the fort until you're ready to come back."

She was so understanding. Just like someone else Mary knew.

And it dawned on her that Sam wasn't the _only_ part of Marshall she had left.

**A/N: So again, not a doctor. But I do my best with what I can find out. I also wasn't necessarily planning on having the end of this chapter be a disappointment rather than a success, but that was where it took me. But I want you to know that the story doesn't simply continue in this persistent 'wait and see' manner, at least not in every single way. There is more ahead in plotlines, I promise!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Many thanks to my reviewers, those who have alerted, favorited, anything under the sun. If you're out there with a set of eyes and reading it, I'm happy.**

XXX

"_Let's not get crazy; I don't want to fight you…"_

"_Back to the fence! Back up towards the fence!"_

_A sneer – a flicker of her lids. The brightest flash of silver, a beacon in the dark._

"_GUN!" _

_Her hand to her belt loop – the swift pull of her glock._

_She yanked the trigger –_

_The pain; blinding white, red hot. A fiery stomach, a flare in her back. The smack of the concrete…_

Mary woke up gasping, springing forward and upward, her gut burning as though it was on fire. The pain had been real. The scar on her abdomen was searing, flesh tingling it was so intense. She doubled over and clutched against the hurt, hoping to squash it, still gasping to grab a breath of air.

She was in the living room at home, the blanket someone had thrown over her cast aside by the way she'd shot up to a sitting position. And Peter – not Brandi as she'd expected – was dashing to her from the kitchen, looking worried. She only saw him out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey-hey…" he bounced onto the couch beside her, in what little room there was left with her curled over her knees. "What's wrong? Do you feel sick?"

Mary had no intention of speaking, but somehow the urge to tell became more important.

"It's my scar…" she panted, managing to untangle herself as though to present evidence.

"Your scar…" Peter repeated uncertainly, not wanting to seem disbelieving but clearly lost.

"From when I was shot – in my abdomen – just like Marshall was. It hurts…" she had slowly reverted into simply giving details now, not nearly as frantic anymore, but her belly was still throbbing.

"Does that happen often?" Peter wanted to know, trying to get a handle on things.

"No…" she shook her head and without thinking that Peter could see her, sure her incision must be bleeding something fierce, folded up the hem of her shirt.

It looked perfectly ordinary – the same as it always did. A fine line just to the right of the top of her belly button; she could run her finger over it and still feel the ridge. Slipping her hand around to her back, she groped and felt for the wound there, but it seemed normal also.

Slowly, she rolled her shirt back down and as her heart rate returned to normal, realized her gut was no longer burning, but cramping up – an intense ache.

She sighed, groaning in her throat, and covered her face with her hand – embarrassed as well as hurting.

"Oh God…" she murmured.

Peter was tender and caring as he pulled her hand away from her eyes and felt her forehead, pushing her bangs out of her line of vision.

"I'm okay…" she said automatically, shaking her head even with his hand still on her flesh.

"You're not feverish," he reported. "Have you eaten anything recently?"

She knew she hadn't. Quite frankly, she couldn't even remember the last time she had. Yet she couldn't decide if she was delirious from lack-of-food or if there was something deeper going on. Was it possible she was feeling Marshall's pain through such a similar injury? Ordinarily, she'd never believe in such cockamamie crap but her mind was still fuzzy from her dream. She was likely to buy into anything.

"Not in awhile," she supplied in an answer to Peter's question.

He patted her knee and stood up.

"I'll make you a snack."

She wanted to tell him she could handle it, but it was probably best to just let him get on with it at this point. Sitting up and watching him while he worked at the island, a second thought came to mind.

"What are you doing here?" she wondered. "Where's Brandi?"

And then a third thought – really the one that should've come before all others.

"Where's Sam? He was here when I dozed off."

"Brandi took him to pick up Jesse from school so you could sneak in a quick nap," Peter informed her, pulling a block of cheese from the fridge and a box of crackers from an upper cabinet.

"So…you came over because…?" Mary prodded.

Peter didn't even bother to hide it.

"To keep an eye on you."

Mary sighed, "I don't need a nursemaid."

Peter simply raised his eyebrows, indicating the turn of events just experienced and Mary was reminded that her belly was still aching in protest. She stayed silent while Peter sliced off some cheese and placed the pieces strategically on squares of cracker. Back to the fridge to add a glass of milk and he was at her side in no time, settling the items on the coffee table before them.

Slowly, Mary picked up the plate and took a tentative bite of cracker. The effect was instantaneous and her head began to clear.

"Thanks," she said, chewing thoughtfully.

"Sure," Peter nodded.

Mary stayed quiet and inquisitive as she crunched, and then decided she could ask Peter what she was thinking. He was sweet and sensitive and wouldn't make fun of her. And really, what could make her feel worse than everything crashing around her right now?

"Peter…" she murmured, pausing with another cracker halfway to her mouth. "What would you do if something like this happened to Brandi?"

Her brother-in-law sighed, leaning forward onto his knees as he pondered, and then righted himself. It was just like him to take the question seriously.

"I'm sure I'd be doing the same thing you are," he concluded. "I'd be miserable, I'd be pissed, I'd be doubting myself…"

"Who says I'm doubting myself?" Mary interrupted sharply.

"We all doubt ourselves, Mary," he said evenly. "Some more than others. I, as a recovering alcoholic…" he put a hand to his chest and shut his eyes with a smile, as though this title were a badge of honor. "Don myself quite a bit of guilt whether I deserve it or not."

Mary rolled her eyes, but let him continue.

"I would be a wreck, but most importantly I would be trying my hardest to take care of my son and make it easier on him."

He stared straight at her. They both had green eyes. It was no wonder Jesse's were the same shade.

"And that's what you're doing," he nodded definitively. "You're doing everything humanly possible. Nobody could ask any more of you, Mary. Marshall would be proud."

Peter wore his heart on his sleeve so often it was alarming and usually Mary found it very risky. It had never compounded with her that someone could be so open and raw so much of the time. But here, it was different. It just seemed direct and unwavering, doling out facts like they couldn't be disputed.

"I wonder if he hurts," she murmured at the ground, swallowing the last cracker she'd devoured. "If that's why I had this…stupid…"

She gestured indistinctly at her stomach, instantly regretting her willingness to share this dumb idea. Peter had gotten her all undone with his bluntness.

"You mean like sympathy pains," he offered. "You're so in-sync you're hurting at the same time."

"Yes…" she leaned in, more eagerly than she meant to now that he'd latched on. "But I don't want him hurting like this…" she let her hand come to rest on her belly now. "It would horrible for him…"

"Well, that's one way to look at it," Peter shrugged. "But maybe you're not experiencing the twinges together. Maybe it's just you feeling it."

Mary cocked her head and narrowed her eyebrows.

"Why would that be?"

"You're feeling his pain so he doesn't have to."

Mary opened her mouth, unsure what she was going to say to this theory, but any thoughts on the subject left her mind when she heard the key in the front door.

Starting and jumping away from Peter as though they were about to be caught doing something indecent, Mary expected to see Sam trudge in with Brandi, but it was Jesse who appeared first.

She tried to smile at him, but knew her hair was matted and her eyes droopy, but apparently her nephew had ideas of his own. Wordlessly, he jogged up, in between the coffee table right to where Mary was sitting and put his arms around her chest in what was unmistakably a hug.

Mary had learned long ago that Jesse was the more affectionate of the pair of cousins. Sam didn't exactly shy away from it, but he wasn't outward with it either – a safe middle-ground between Mary's aversion to touch and Marshall's need to be tangible at all times. But Jesse was different; he hugged you even if he'd seen you two hours before. He kissed you goodnight and held your hand whether you were crossing the street or crossing the room.

And Mary had a very shrewd idea what this particular embrace was about.

"I'm sorry Uncle Marshall's sick," he said plainly as Mary rested her chin on his silky blonde hair.

She willed herself not to cry and resolved to kiss his head to avoid it.

"Me too Jess," she admitted.

"Careful man…" Peter cautioned as Jesse stepped back. "Aunt Mary's feeling a little lousy."

Unfortunately, this phrase escaped just as Brandi and Sam entered and both of them heard it.

"What do you mean?" Brandi wanted to know at once, halting with Sam at her side. "You don't feel well?"

"Mom…!" Sam raced over at these words, almost knocking Jesse to the floor in his anticipation. There was a frenzied and anxious look dancing in his eyes. "What's the matter? Are you sick?"

"Sam, no…" she shook her head, startled by the frantic way he was reacting. "I'm fine…"

"But Peter said…"

"I just needed to eat something," she interrupted, holding up the empty plate of crackers for him to see. "I just forgot to have lunch."

She'd forgotten more meals than that, but that was water under the bridge at this point.

"But I feel better now," she assured him. "I promise."

"Promises don't mean anything," Sam stated baldly.

It was like a round in exchanging looks. Mary glanced up at Brandi, who turned to Peter, who flicked his eyes onto Mary's. This was nasty territory. How did she refute something like that?

"Smush…" she proceeded delicately, feeling the ache in her muscles return like a familiar friend. "You know how dad and I always tell you that you get grouchy if you haven't eaten enough?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Sam nodded.

"Well that's all that happened," she went on. "Peter fixed me a snack and now I'm tip-top."

"Will you remember to eat next time?" Sam wanted to know.

Mary did not like this. Initially, she had found it sweet that Sam wanted to take care of her and had wanted Marshall to know it, but how had she not seen it coming down the pike? She hated when kids felt they were in charge of someone who was much more capable. Her entire childhood was defined by the experience and she'd resented it for years after – raising Brandi, making excuses for Jinx. She'd lived it. Sam would not live it too.

"Yes Sam, I will," she started to say. "But it's not your job to make sure I do," she went on forcefully. "It's not your job to make sure I do anything. That's _my_ job. I'm the grown-up; I take care of myself."

She wasn't entirely sure how she expected her son to respond, but he just nodded and seemed to accept the directions for what they were. For now – crisis averted.

However, there was another immediate concern on the horizon and she preferred that she and Sam have the next conversation alone.

"Jesse…" she threw Brandi a significant look, hoping she would catch on. "You think you could head out back and pick up around the patio for me? We had dinner out there a few nights ago and I didn't get a chance to clean up…"

"Sure," Peter said at once, and Brandi nodded. "Come on man; mom and I will help you."

Jesse was visibly bewildered by the request, but kept quiet as his parents herded him into the kitchen and out the deck door. Once Mary was sure it had shut, she patted the empty space of couch beside her, indicating that Sam should sit.

"Come see me, Smush," she requested. "Let's talk for a second."

Sam did not look thrilled at the prospect, but did as he was told and hopped up beside her, legs dangling above the ground. It was obvious he could not stand to receive any more bad news, but this was more an issue of what to do about the misfortune they'd already been caused.

"I want to talk about your birthday tomorrow," Mary said frankly, determined to get this over with as soon as possible, hoping not to upset Sam any more than he already was.

"Who cares?" he said predictably, but no hint of accusation made its way through. "Like dad's gonna be there."

"No, he's not," Mary proceeded gently. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she repeated for what seemed like more than just the third time. "We can still have the party, but if you don't want it that's fine too."

Sam dropped his gaze to his lap, watching his fingers twist and turn in apprehension and indecision.

"We can do whatever you want," Mary told him, a phrase she never thought she would utter when it came to her son. "Do you still want all your friends to come over?"

Sam considered, shifting side-to-side and looking so uncomfortable and confused it made Mary want to hug him all over again. Judging by the way he was behaving, she guessed she might have to make rearrangements for him, but he surprised her.

Looking up, disappointed but resolute, he shook his head.

"You don't want your friends to come over?" Mary wanted to clarify.

There was little hesitation this time. He shook his head once more.

"Okay," she said at once, needing him to know she accepted his decision. "All right. That's fine," she assured him.

Now it was on the next order of business.

"Is there something else you want to do?" she prompted. "I know everyone's here to be with dad; but they can come here and help you celebrate," she offered. "Uncle Griffin and Uncle Julian would love to see you…"

Mary had spent the entire morning at the hospital and the afternoon with Sam, but his uncles on Marshall's side had yet to catch a glimpse of him.

"Could it just…?" he spoke faster than Mary was expecting, but she intended to listen to every word.

He paused briefly, as though trying to get what he wanted to say out just right, biting his bottom lip.

"Could it just…be you and me…?" he asked. "And Brandi and Jinx and Grandma?"

Mary had to admit being a little thrown by the group of people in the request. He adored Brandi, seemed to get a kick out of Jinx, and Carolyn was a novelty right now but the absentee members were throwing her off. He absolutely loved Peter and hadn't seen Griffin or Julian in God knew how long. Not to mention, Stan was supposed to come initially as well if he could find the time to spare.

Still, she didn't want Sam to think he'd asked for something non-negotiable, so she nodded in a would-be-confident way to reassure him.

"Sure," she said. "If that's what you want; that's what we'll do."

She was still bobbing her head up and down as though to reinforce the point when another matter occurred to her.

"What about Jesse?" she wondered aloud. "You want him to stay home?"

Mary hoped beyond hope he would not say yes. Jesse would lose his mind if he found out Sam didn't want him at his birthday party, regardless of the circumstances. He was much more sensitive than Sam and she wouldn't envy Brandi having to deal with the repercussions.

Fortunately, Sam shrugged and said half-heartedly, "Jesse can still come."

She hated this blank and empty shell that used to be her son. He was nothing like himself, minus the fact that he was still tactful, polite, and easy to manage. All of his spunk, his vigor was gone. She shouldn't have expected anything less, but it was depressing at the highest degree.

"You'll be quite the ladies man tomorrow," she attempted to joke with him, but he didn't crack a smile.

He stared at her – straight through her – as though he'd never seen her before in his life. Was she capable of going on like this?

Slowly, she reached out and put her arm around his back, steering him in toward her. He slumped into her chest, finding the warmth, nudging into the embrace as he shoved the rest of his body in next to her. He was limp in the hug, but seemed to need it all the same.

"I know it's not the same bud," she admitted, resting her chin on the top of his head. "But dad would be here if he could. Remember – you're his sheriff."

The word made him tremble and in an effort to keep him from crying, Mary squeezed him tight.

"He'd want you to have a good time."

**A/N: I wanted to get some Peter in; he's a good soul. And Sam and Jesse as well. ;) **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Lots of hugs for the kind feedback!**

XXX

It was a disaster of mythic proportions. It was far and away the gloomiest, most depressing birthday party Mary had ever been to, which was saying something considering how many of her own she had botched over the years with her surly attitude.

Sam just _sat_ there. He didn't speak unless he was spoken to, and even then he provided one or two word answers at the minimum. Jesse tried, without fail, to cheer him up – playing video games, engaging with the treasured weapons, even telling him he could have his piece of cake when the time came. Sam never bit. Following his cousin around like a zombie, he shook his head at every request and never moved his lips unless absolutely necessary.

Eventually, Mary decided the only thing that might go toward improving his mood was his presents, plus the double chocolate cake she'd picked up at the bakery. Sam sat at the table, a mound of gifts in front of him, gathered by the standing forms of his mom, aunt, and grandmothers, Jesse across from him in anticipation. Brandi, Jinx, and Carolyn were making fruitless attempts at positivity, but it didn't do any good.

"Pick one out Sam," Mary said from her spot next to Brandi, watching him gaze blankly at the pile of presents. "There's lots to choose from."

Wordlessly, he grabbed the nearest box and with not one hint of childish ripping, tearing, or pouncing, he removed the paper, casting the remains aside with his elbow. Lifting the top off a long, rectangular shoebox, he pulled the tissue paper out to find a pair of real leather cowboy boots in rich, handsome brown.

Although Sam loved cowboys, his willingness for dress-up was limited, but Mary had heard him mention multiple times he needed real boots to run faster.

"Sammy boy, look at those!" Brandi gushed dramatically. "Think how fast you'll be able to run!"

"They're so cool!" Jesse chimed in.

"Strapping!" Carolyn added for ruggedness.

But Sam just turned to Mary and the look on his face was one she would not soon forget; it made her blood run cold just to stare into his eyes.

In the most contemptuous tone she had ever heard him utter, he claimed, "I don't _like_ cowboys."

Not only was it the first thing he'd spoken without question all day, it was absolutely the last thing she expected to hear. Her shock caught up with her mouth and she couldn't even begin to form a counter-attack. Unfortunately, Jinx was quicker.

"Darling, of course you do; you love cowboys," she chirped, as though Sam were merely touched in the head.

"No, I don't," he said just as strongly, his gaze never wavering from Mary's.

"Are you sure Sammy?" Brandi attempted to divert just slightly, to maybe prod in the correct direction. "I really think those boots-."

"I said I don't like them…!" he burst loudly.

"Fine," Mary interrupted, not wanting this to escalate, still having the foolish hope that this party would turn out even halfway decent. "Fine; you don't like cowboys…"

She put the lid back on the box, shielding the boots from view, and slid the contents onto the empty chair she was standing behind.

"I got you plenty of other things," she waved at the stack of gifts. "Find something else."

He finally lifted his gaze from Mary's, but the look he gave the remainder of the presents was one filled with disdain. He had the air like he was about to be sick and it was then that Mary realized why that face on him was so upsetting. He looked like she did. Brooding – bitter and dark with no optimistic outlook regardless of how hard others made the effort.

"I don't want them," he decided. "They're all stupid."

"You won't be sure until you open them Sammy," Brandi pressed on, clearly trying to cover up his heartless remark. "I'd hate for you to miss out on something that might surprise you…"

"I'll open one for you, Sam…" Jesse offered, and he reached out his hand to take one of the boxes.

Mistake. Huge mistake.

"Don't! Stop!" Sam yelled, and he stood up.

To Mary's astonishment, the mere idea made him attempt to push the entire pile of presents to the floor. This was going nightmarishly wrong, but it was like a train wreck – Mary just couldn't stop, just couldn't look away.

Fortunately, Brandi was quick enough to snatch Jesse's hand and also managed to rescue the few gifts that were about to tumble to the ground.

"Jess, no; they're his gifts…"

Mary knew, just from knowing Jesse, that his desire to open was not one of greed or a need to have a present as well, but to try and help his friend but she couldn't expect Sam to put those pieces together. She figured it was best to end the proverbial party before things got any worse.

Thankfully, it appeared she and Carolyn were on the same wavelength.

"You know; we don't need to do gifts right now," she spoke up and put her hand on Sam's shoulder. He was breathing heavily from his standing position, clearly about to explode.

"We can have some cake," she suggested, appealing to Mary with a flick of her eyes. "I'll cut you a piece Sam; what do you say?"

What Sam had to say was nothing very good.

"I don't want this cake!" he hollered, looking down onto the table where it was stationed with disapproval. "I wanted the vanilla ice cream one; like you _said_ I was getting!" eyes flashing back to Mary's.

She'd _known_ this would come up, and was honestly surprised it had taken this long. Marshall was supposed to have picked up their pre-ordered cake on his way back home Friday night. With everything that had gone on, Mary had forgotten and the bakery had given it away.

"But Sammy, it's really good…"

Brandi was relentless, but Sam's patience had-had enough.

"I don't _want_ it!"

And he stuck his fist through the center, making an enormous hole in the frosting; the whole thing made a squishing sound and Sam's hand was covered in icing.

"Sam…!" Mary cried, mostly out of surprise, but he wasn't done.

Leaning into the table, he shoved the entire stack of presents and they sailed to the floor – thud, thump, bang- crash – into a huge heap on the linoleum. Without even bothering to give a last word, he turned and ran from the room, but Mary refused to let him get away, refused to let him believe nobody cared how he acted.

"Sam!" she shouted again as he made it to the living room, and she tore after him. "Sam! Sam – stop it!"

She snatched his arm halfway down the hall and made him face her.

"Sam, enough…" she breathed, trying to sound even partially understanding. "Smush…" she began again. "Sheriff; I know this isn't how you…"

"Don't call me sheriff!" he demanded, wrenching his arm free. "And don't call me Smush! My name is Sam! My _name_ is _Sam_!"

The request hurt Mary more than she could've expected. She'd called him Smush since he was born, and Marshall had donned him the sheriff.

Oh.

"Fine," she resolved to be agreeable with this realization. "Fine, I'll call you Sam."

Trying to ignore the stares of Jinx, Brandi, and Carolyn, Mary tried to turn things around, tried to keep her son from completely going off the deep end.

"Sam, look…" she tried not to touch him this time, which wasn't easy. "I know this sucks; I know this isn't what you wanted. But I think that we…"

"No!" he interjected loudly. "You can't fix it! You can't bring dad here! I want dad! It's not my birthday! It's not my birthday anymore!"

With this string of marginally incoherent phrases, he made his race back to his bedroom and slammed the door just as Mary made it there. Not wanting to burst in on him and leave him some dignity, she just called to him from behind the hatch.

"Sam!" she shouted stupidly. "Sam, come on!"

She even knocked, as if he didn't know she was there. Eventually, the whole thing became pointless but she just couldn't stop. She let the rapping die away and hung her head, resting it against the wood, closing her eyes.

"Sam…" she whispered. "Please…"

She was going to cry. She knew it.

"Sam…"

Nothing.

"Smush…" she said it quietly enough he couldn't have heard any longer, unable to help herself.

The tears came at the exact same moment she felt a hand on her back as she stared into the surface of the door, forehead against the planks, knocking hand still raised at the ready.

When she finally stood upright and turned around, she expected Carolyn, but it was Jinx wearing a sympathetic expression and ignoring the tears on her cheeks.

"Sweetie, just leave him be for a little while," she said gently. "He's upset; he's confused. Come back to the kitchen…"

She took her hand and had to guide her.

"Brandi and I will help you clean up."

She was holding Jinx's hand, but couldn't make her feet move. She didn't want to give in, didn't want Sam to think she didn't give a damn. Most of all, she couldn't stand to leave him in there alone on his birthday; angry and lost and wanting the one thing for his special day that he just couldn't have.

She'd been there. Seven was a bad-bad year.

In the distance she heard Jesse crying, which did nothing to aide her return to the kitchen.

"I was trying to _help_ him! I was just trying to help!"

"Jesse…baby, he's not mad at you…he's sad about Uncle Marshall…"

Was Mary supposed to buy into this logic as well? To cast Sam's outburst aside and pretend his episode of acting out was caused by a bout of melancholy feelings he might never get over? She didn't see that happening – not anytime soon.

"Mary?" Jinx prompted, for she was just staring into space with tears in her eyes as well as stuck to her cheeks, not responding to a word anyone was saying.

She wasn't going to get anything done standing here, so she allowed Jinx to drag her back to the kitchen.

The scene awaiting her was most unpleasant. Jesse sitting alone at the table, shuddering pathetically. Brandi crouched down next to him, rubbing his hair and whispering in his ear. The presents strewn all over the floor; the demolished chocolate cake. And Carolyn – watching the spot where Mary returned instead of succumbing to the drama herself and just falling apart.

Jinx dashed to the center of the room and started retrieving the boxes, settling them one-by-one on the island. She slid a few back and forth, listening to the contents to see if they'd broken. Brandi, patting Jesse's back, stood up and joined her. Carolyn walked around the outer counter to Mary, who sniffled childishly in attempts to stem the flow of tears.

Her mother-in-law put an arm around her, comforting as always.

"It's okay honey," she said quietly.

Mary nodded, even though she didn't agree.

"It's all right. He's upset about Marshall; it's not your fault."

She nodded again, though she agreed with this even less.

She'd never really thought she could have the same nightmare twice, but that was exactly what was happening – only it was a thousand times worse on this go around and she'd never believed it was possible. Spurred on by Carolyn rubbing her furthest shoulder, the words came – flat and empty, but out just the same.

"My dad left two days before my seventh birthday."

Carolyn knew this already, of course, but it was evident she'd forgotten because she sighed in recognition. Even so, she pulled Mary in beside her, squeezing her gently. She kissed her hair, and the words she spoke were warm.

"It must be so hard for you to see him like this," she said sympathetically, softly enough the others couldn't hear. "Sometimes, it's even harder to know just how bad your kids are hurting because you've been there."

A third nod, but this one far more reliable.

"But remember this, okay?"

She was listening even if she wasn't looking at her – eyes fixed on her mother and sister tidying the wrecked kitchen.

"Marshall didn't leave him on purpose. He'd give anything to be here."

And that made all the difference. All the difference in the world.

**A/N: All right, I know it's been dreary – I know. But I hope you'll bear with me because while things may not look up for awhile (MAY not LOL!) I promise there's more ahead than all this slogging through it. Take heart, and I beg you to be patient. XOXO**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Oh, loyal reviewers, I need you this evening. It's been a hell of a day. And this may just be my favorite chapter.**

XXX

The afternoon died quickly in the presence of Sam's meltdown. Jesse was in disarray, having been rejected by what could only be described as his idol, and Brandi was forced to take him home. Jinx tried to stay, tried to talk Mary off the ledge she was clearly on the brink of jumping over, but her daughter had none of it. She was tired of being hovered upon, tired of being tiptoed around, and mostly tired of being tired. She sent her away none-too-kindly and Carolyn, smart enough to take the hint, returned to the hospital where Griffin and Julian had set up camp for the day. Mary really wanted to go too, was aching fit to burst from not being with Marshall, being by his side, but she couldn't leave Sam. Not on his birthday.

He stayed in his room such a long time Mary guessed he must've fallen asleep. He was infinitely stubborn when he wanted to be and she ventured that in his quest to withhold his birthday, he had partially lost the battle by drifting into dreamland where things didn't hurt quite so much.

It was almost 6:30 in the evening and Mary was sitting at the table working mindlessly on her laptop, punching in information about comatose patients and gunshot wounds, when she heard the door of Sam's bedroom.

Shutting her laptop quickly and trying to look impassive, she turned to watch him enter and he did indeed. He looked rumpled, his hair sticking up at the back, and also ashamed. He just stood halfway between the kitchen and living room, watching his mother who was watching him.

"Hi…" Mary said in what she hoped was an inviting tone.

But she didn't know what to say next. Sam stood, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, also unsure how to vocalize what he was thinking.

"You hungry?" she prodded delicately. "You haven't had dinner."

Sam obviously still wanted to hold up his end of the argument, but his stomach was telling him something else and he nodded.

Bolstered by the leeway, Mary slid her chair out from the table, a silent indication for him to come over and join her. Evidently it was all the encouragement he needed, because he bolted in no time flat. But instead of taking his own chair, he lifted himself onto Mary's lap, facing inward toward the table.

Mary was a little surprised. He hadn't sat on her lap in quite awhile, again with the claims that he was too big or too old. But she wasn't about to tell him to get off, so she shoved the laptop to the other end of the table and pulled the crater-cake in front of them. Snatching the knife at its side, she awkwardly sliced a piece around Sam's body and he wasted no time in just grabbing pieces with his fingers. Mary would've preferred he use a fork, but he wasn't a messy eater so she just let him be.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam licking his fingers, Mary stealing a few bites herself, Sam finally spoke.

"This is the worst birthday ever."

The malice in his voice had disappeared, which was a relief. He just stated it like a fact, and Mary didn't see any point in arguing with him.

"You know…" she said, still reaching around him to grab morsels of cake. "My seventh birthday was my worst too."

"Really?" he said curiously, smacking his lips. "How come?"

She'd never told Sam about James – not much anyway. He was too young to really understand, at least to understand in the way that Mary wanted him to. It may have been moronic, but so much of her life was defined by her father's abandonment. Why she wanted Sam to get that it was unclear, but she did. Maybe she just wanted him to know how wrong it was.

"My dad had left home a few days before," she decided to start light.

"Left home?" Sam turned in his seat to try and look at her. "What's that mean? Like…just for awhile, on a trip or something? Did he forget it was your birthday?"

"No…" Mary shook her head, almost enjoying the innocence of his questions. "See, my dad had a lot of problems. There were things that were more important to him than…"

It was still hard admitting this, but she knew it was true and Sam deserved the truth.

She swallowed, "…Than to me and Brandi and Jinx. So he made a choice and his choice was to take care of himself instead of us."

She said it all very directly, much more evenly than she usually spoke about her father but if she wanted Sam to comprehend it, she needed to be smart about it. Nothing was to be gained from becoming a mess and she had more important things to worry about.

She fully expected, 'what kind of things?' to come next, and was just working out how to explain gambling to a seven-year-old, when he surprised her.

"So, where did he go?" Sam wanted to know, returning to front-facing and grabbing more pieces of cake in his fingers.

"I don't know," Mary said honestly, following suit and snatching some crumbs herself.

"Well, did he ever come back?" he went on, clearly interested in the story now.

"No," she responded, scooping the tinier scraps back onto the plate so they wouldn't litter the floor.

"Where is he now?"

It was like a game of tennis with Sam on his back and forth. But this question was a little harder, especially considering what had come before it. She'd never known where James had gone; he'd never returned for her. And he wasn't ever going to.

"He died," she replied as plainly as she could. "When you were about…" she calculated briefly in her head, taking herself back to that trip to Kansas.

Sam giggling, laughing and squealing on that horse.

"One year old," she said in terms he would understand. "A little bigger."

The mention of death didn't deter Sam. If anything, it made his next request all the more simplistic and expected.

"Do you miss him?"

Mary couldn't see his face, just the back of his dark brown hair; saw each of the scalloped waves, one against the other. It was so pretty, so soft. She knew it came from Mark and not her, but she loved it even if he didn't resemble her. Leaning her forehead into those downy soft curls, she closed her eyes and then pulled up again to answer.

"Yes bud, I do."

Sam was probably the only person to whom this made sense. Why not? Her dad had left and then he'd died. What wasn't to miss? Simplicity really did do wonders for a person sometimes, regardless of what Mary usually believed.

At the same time, she expected this comment to have a more profound effect on him, but he didn't take the time to digest – either literally or figuratively this instance. He turned around as well as he could so he could look at her again, a serious look on his face. He seemed very resolute, very certain.

"I don't think he should have left you," he stated. "Not if he never came back or told you where he was going. That isn't very nice."

Mary's expectation, after the ordeal she'd been through, was that she was going to cry again. But absurdly, it made her smile. Softly, without her teeth, but genuine. More sincere than she'd felt in awhile.

"Well, it sure made my birthday a bummer," she conceded for something to say. "You are a Shannon, Sam," she reminded him, careful to use his preferred name. "A bad seventh birthday must come from me."

"How come?" he drove on, but he hopped down off her lap now, walking around the edge of the table.

Mary saw him with his eye on the pile of presents, but she just kept right on talking, determined to keep him even. Through it, she watched him walk to the island and take one of the gifts, casually bringing it back to the table. He sat across from her this time.

"How come what?" she wanted to make sure.

"Well…" he started to tear the paper off. "My last name is Shannon…"

"It is," Mary nodded.

"And so is yours…" paper gone now.

"Right," Mary agreed.

"But, dad's name is Mann. Isn't it?" Sam wanted to know.

He took the top off a long, thin box which contained a toy rifle, 'like the ones the cowboys use.' She saw the tiniest hint of a smile, but took care to answer his question.

"Yeah," she said. "He is Marshall Mann."

It made her heart twinge to say it out loud.

"But, some of my friends have names that are different from their mom or their dad, but their parents are divorced. You and dad aren't divorced," he replied, as though she didn't know.

After testing the trigger and closing one eye to peer down the length of the rifle, he set it on the table and got up to get another present.

"No, we are definitely married," she assured him, keeping her seat. "But we weren't when you were born. So, you got my name."

She hoped this was sufficient and it appeared it was as Sam nodded and returned to the table. He was only seven and likely wouldn't put the pieces together that if she and Marshall hadn't been married at his birth, it was highly plausible he wasn't – technically – Marshall's son. Sam knew Mark, but not the truth. All three of them had resolved to wait until he was old enough to fully understand what had gone on. At the moment, he considered Mark a fun-loving uncle, some guy from his mother's past that came every so often to take him out to do something he enjoyed. Now wasn't the time to get into specifics.

"Well…" Sam set about removing paper off the second gift. "What if I wanted dad's name instead?"

What a question. It prompted all sorts of strange flutterings for Mary, possibilities she'd never even considered. Legally, biologically Marshall's _wasn't_ Sam's dad. He would have to adopt him for that to happen.

"That'd be kind of bizarre," she offered to avoid voicing this. "Your middle name is Mann. So then you'd be Samuel Mann Mann."

"But then I'd be _just_ like dad!" Sam exclaimed, not discouraged in the least. "Because he's Marshal Marshall Mann, right?"

Mary laughed, for what felt like the first time in years. Sam had just opened his desired grappling hook, something she had gotten him long before he'd requested it the night Marshall had been shot. He gave it the once-over as he waited for Mary's response.

"Maybe we leave this for another day," she suggested, not really wanting to weigh the prospects at the moment, not wanting to think about Mark. "Is that hook the kind you wanted?"

"Yeah," he said, fingering the rope. "So…it's still my birthday, right?" back to the island.

"Sure Sam."

"What was it like when I was born?"

His stream of questions was endless. He bounced from one to the other with no space in-between. Mary had to wonder where all the talk was coming from, but maybe he was smart enough, even subconsciously, to know that speaking kept him from remembering what they were all facing at the moment.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"Just wondered," he shrugged, carrying his third present.

"Well…" she pondered how much to reveal but she was a huge fan of honesty, of the unvarnished truth whenever possible. "It was painful."

She could almost hear Marshall laughing at this response.

"Yeah?" he muttered curiously.

"Yep," she reinforced. "You made me throw up."

"I did?" his eyebrows raised as she said this. "Cool."

She found herself chuckling again.

"If you say so."

Mary decided she could sunny this up a little, to touch on the lighter and more sentimental aspects of Sam's appearance rather than the nitty-gritty for once. She leaned her chin in her head and peered at him from across the table.

"You came two minutes before five o'clock in the morning," she revealed. "And when you decided it was time, it took you nine hours to show up."

"_Nine_ hours?" now his eyes bugged. "That's forever!"

"And did you know Jesse took eighteen?"

"Wow!" there was a flash of a grin on his seven-year-old face.

"They handed you to me…" she went on, tone turning soft and ethereal now. "And your dad was sitting right behind me. And he put your cheek on my chest…"

With a jolt, suddenly she wanted Sam right there – tiny and brand new, Marshall anchoring her; the three of them like there was nobody else in the world. Sam was looking straight at her now, presents forgotten, wrapped into this tale of his arrival.

"That's when I knew you were mine," she said. "I knew I'd done the right thing."

Wait-wait. What did she just say? Hang on – back the truck up. Shut up.

"Huh?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "What do you mean?"

Now was not the time. What on earth was she thinking? Marshall was in the hospital, fighting for his life. He was his dad no matter what.

"Nothing Sam," she tried to smile. "It was a big day for me. I wish this one was better for you."

Sam looked sad then – sad, but determined in what he was going to say.

"I wish your dad had come to your seventh birthday, mom."

Marshall. _All_ Marshall.

"Same to you, bud."

**A/N: Nothing left to say except I adore all of you out there for hanging with me. Adore. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! Real life got in the way. Hate when that happens. ;)**

XXX

Dreary Sunday passed in a haze of no sleep and no food for Mary, who spent the entire day in Marshall's hospital room. Although Sam clearly didn't want her to leave the house, he'd remembered his promise about letting her sit with Marshall. To distract him, Brandi took him and Jesse to see a movie. Clearly feeling bad about how he'd treated Jesse the day before, Sam went along with the idea, however reluctantly.

It wasn't until early Monday morning, around six o'clock when Mary knew she would have to return home to see Sam off to school, that there was any alteration in the plans for Marshall.

She was dozing lightly halfway between Marshall's head and his feet, head pressed into the spare space of mattress so she wouldn't upset his wounds. She had been holding his hand, but his fingers had slipped in her grasp once she'd drifted off. The sun was starting to rise in the east out the tiny window beyond the bed when she felt someone place a hand on her shoulder.

"Mary?"

"Hmm…?" she said at once, trying to sound alert which was pathetic since she had obviously gone to sleep.

She straightened at once; rubbed her eyes with her free hand before turning around to find Carolyn.

"You want to come out to the waiting room?" she asked kindly. "Doctor Seager has some news; I didn't want you to miss it."

She nodded, subdued and drowsy and unable to speak. Standing up and adjusting her shirt, she patted Marshall's hand, feeling a little awkward with Carolyn standing nearby. However, she seemed to understand and although she didn't leave, she did migrate toward the door and turn away, giving Mary time to say or do whatever she needed.

"Don't wake up while I'm gone," she instructed in a lethargic voice. "I don't want to miss seeing the first look of real confusion your face has ever had to force itself into."

Leaning over, she kissed his forehead and raked her fingers through his coarse, dark hair.

"Love you," she added lamely, still convinced he could not hear whatever phrase she might utter. "Sam loves you too."

Ready now, she made her way to the door and with nary a phrase uttered, she jerked her head, indicating that Carolyn could take her turn at words of comfort before they departed.

"One of us will be back soon," she promised while Mary had her back turned. "And your wife is right; you can't go and flutter your eyes while one of us is missing. Save the display for when there's someone to see the show."

Mary could hear her choking up, trying to mask it with humor, but she pretended not to have noticed. Once she'd kissed her son and patted his shoulder, she joined Mary at the door to exit.

They walked the length of the ICU in silence, trying not to let their eyes draw to the other patients in critical condition, neither one of them wanting to imagine Marshall was in such bad shape. Mary was unsteady on her feet as it was without having eaten anything for almost an entire day and she couldn't begin to comprehend how Carolyn was faring. She, Griffin, and Julian had taken turns at crashing on her couch but as they all spent so much time in the hospital it had rarely been necessary. Carolyn usually refused to leave unless Sam wanted her, and Griffin and Julian became obsessed with aiding their mother. Although Mary was more than willing to help any of them, she couldn't help feeling conspicuous when they were in the house, especially when both she and Sam were such basket cases. The Mann's had a much more even approach to grief.

The worst part of it for Mary was that Sam, who had been dying to see Griffin and Julian, had been missing them at every interval between the fact that he couldn't go to the hospital and one or the other only came to the house in the dead of night to zonk out.

Doctor Seager was already standing in the waiting room when Mary and Carolyn returned, Griffin and Julian stationed beside him.

"Sorry for the delay," Carolyn apologized as they congregated. "I wanted to make sure Mary was present."

"Of course," the doctor nodded his approval. "Although there isn't much to this. We told you a few nights ago that our next step was to suture Marshall's wounds closed and that's what we're headed in to do here in the next hour."

Mary had known this was coming, but still wasn't prepared for it. Marshall had made no apparent progress before or since his surgery. He was still on that damn ventilator, still showing no signs in a higher level of brain activity.

"And you think he'll hold up okay through all that?" Griffin asked, for Mary didn't seem quite capable of speaking.

"It holds about the same risk as the previous surgery – maybe a little less, as it won't take as long," Doctor Seager explained. "We'll keep an eye on him; make sure he doesn't go into shock or anything so severe."

"This is happening when?" Griffin pressed on.

"I'm hoping to roll him into the OR by 7:15 or so," the man answered.

The group nodded as a whole, but Mary was starting to feel fuzzy and numb. Something about this wasn't registering and she knew her mind wasn't functioning because she'd hadn't had any food. If only she could string two coherent thoughts together, she could vocalize why this was a problem, but it just wasn't coming. It wasn't adding up somewhere; if she could just figure out where…

"You want to call Connie and Kim?" Griffin was saying to Julian. "We can catch the kids before they head to school. Sophie and Sarah have got that ACT prep course today so they'll be going in early…"

School. School.

Click.

"Wait…" Mary sputtered like a stupid person, but Doctor Seager was already gone, already off to make arrangements.

Carolyn was the only one who heard. What would Mary do without her?

"What honey?" she prompted.

Mary shook her head, unsure why the sudden revelation was such a problem, such an inconvenience. She'd been dealing with inconveniences for nearly a week now, and yet they were becoming overwhelming.

"They can't do this now; I have to go home, I have to get Sam to school…" she managed.

"Can't your sister take him?" Griffin wanted to know, Julian already busy making the designated calls.

Brandi could, of course. But Mary didn't want her to. Sam had not been to school since Marshall had been shot and his return warranted his mother being there to see him off.

"But I don't want him to go…I don't want him to be by himself…he needs to know…" her words were all mixed-up, unable to form complete sentences or articulate phrases.

"They can't…they just can't…"

She was starting to feel swimmy and disoriented, like she wasn't seeing straight or hearing what she was supposed to. Black and spots of gold burst into her line of vision, her ears were closing up, her legs wouldn't hold her…

"Griffin, get her some water; now…"

Was that Carolyn or Jinx? Were those Griffin's footsteps or Marshall's?

Marshall's? Was he here?

"Mary honey; sit down…"

Vaguely, she felt gentle hands on her forearms, but couldn't see to whom they belonged. She felt herself being steered somewhere, but didn't know where.

"Sit down; take a deep breath…"

Yes – this seemed logical. Mary did it without question, and the gasps were loud inside her ears. Somewhere along the way, she managed to take a seat which improved her vision, at least. She still couldn't hear properly, but Carolyn's concerned face was crouching down before her own and within moments Griffin returned with a Styrofoam cup of water. She could even see Julian in the distance, eyeing her while he spoke on the phone.

"Drink this…" her brother-in-law instructed.

This also seemed rational so she did as told. Within moments, the hustle and bustle of the hospital returned; she could hear the nurses at the counter, the clunk of the ice machine. With awareness came the fact that she was clammy and shaky all over.

"Mary, what's wrong?" Carolyn proceeded delicately.

"You are really pale…" Griffin observed before Mary could answer.

In an act of compassion, he placed a hand on her cheek to feel her flesh for a fever, just as Peter had done. In a small, remote corner of her brain she knew she could not go on like this. She could not continue to fall apart.

"When was the last time you ate?" he wanted to know.

"Ate?" she stated blankly in a small voice.

"Supplemented yourself with food or nourishment," he supplied.

"Griffin," that was Carolyn, warning and maternal.

Griffin didn't respond to the caution, and Mary didn't know the answer to the question. She took another sip of water, trying to work out what had just happened. She'd almost fainted, from what she could ascertain. This should tell her that she most definitely had not eaten in quite some time.

"I don't know…" she whispered, still in her tiny voice.

"We'll get you something," Carolyn had decided at once.

She knew this was important – essential, even – but something else seemed vastly _more_ important right now, even if she couldn't figure out why.

"I have to make sure Sam gets to school."

Carolyn and Griffin exchanged looks briefly but Mary resolved to let them work this one out on their own. She didn't have the foggiest idea what was going on – obviously.

"Well…" Griffin was the first to speak up. "How about Julian and I head home with you…?"

They didn't want her driving. She had not missed that part of the plan.

"And mom will stay here through the first part of Marshall's surgery; then we can come back," he suggested. "That way we'll get to say hi to Sam."

He fed her one of the sweetest smiles she'd ever seen on Griffin. It was this, perhaps, plus the consideration of her son that helped her to waver to the thought.

"Okay…" she nodded, feeling a little more like herself now, but she was still sticky with sweat. "Okay."

"Okay," Griffin repeated and he patted her knee before he stood up and went to inform Julian of the plan, who was still on his cell phone.

Carolyn stayed with Mary as she continued sipping from the cup of water, with more alertness coming more humiliation. These people had known Marshall his entire life and _they_ were able to keep it together. What was the matter with her, behaving like this?

Another slow, sedate swallow of water helped to get the words out.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly to her mother-in-law. "I'm sorry I'm such a…" she shook her head. "Train wreck."

Carolyn patted her arm sympathetically.

"Don't be," she assured her, blue eyes twinkling even in their devastation. "But take care of yourself honey, okay? Marshall wouldn't want you to starve yourself; you can't help him or Sam if you're passing out."

Reasonable thought always took precedence in this family.

"You'll tell him I love him…?" Mary said suddenly. "Before he goes in?"

Carolyn smiled and patted her knee, just as Griffin had done.

"He knows."

**A/N: Sorry it's a short one too! And Mary's getting a little spinny – yikes LOL!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Oh those reviews; they really make me smile. Thank-you.**

XXX

Even through the drive home with Griffin and Julian, Mary started to think less and less of her untimely meltdown but when they arrived at the house just before seven o'clock, it appeared she had-had the right idea. The minute she opened the front door she could hear Sam arguing with Brandi in his bedroom.

"You don't _get_ it!" he shouted.

"Tell me Sam…help me understand…" Brandi pleaded.

Griffin, Julian, and Mary exchanged looks on the threshold. Mary knew she needed to go, needed to see what was going on, to relieve Brandi of everything she'd been handling but she was so tired. And regardless of the circumstances, she didn't want Griffin and Julian to see Sam so out-of-sorts.

"Stay here…" she said in an undertone, and both of them nodded their approval.

She took the quick jaunt through the living room and down the hall and when she reached Sam's bedroom; he had his back to her. Brandi was kneeling on the floor in front of him, trying to be gentle. He was still in his pajamas.

"Why don't you tell me why you're upset?" her sister prodded, not having noticed Mary. "You might feel better if you share with me."

"No, I won't!" he hollered. "You don't get it!" he repeated. "It's my…"

But when Mary leaned on the doorframe it made a creaking noise; Brandi's eyes flicked upward and she saw the elder Shannon. Sam whirled around and she could see his face was fraught with concern.

"Mom…!" he exclaimed.

Without hesitation, he ran from Brandi and straight to Mary. In keeping with tradition, she couldn't stop herself from lifting him up and into her arms but he clearly had no objection.

"Hi bud…" she greeted him once he was up, but her eyes were still with Brandi. "What's going on? You okay?"

To her surprise, he nodded at the question but the look on Brandi's face convinced her he was lying. She stood up slowly, looking more serious than Mary was used to seeing as she held her son, arms wound around her neck.

"Just in time," Brandi said, sticking a hand on her hip but she didn't look angry. She looked unhappy, if anything.

"Why aren't you dressed, Sam?" Mary posed, feeling the flannel of his pajamas beneath her fingers. "You've gotta leave for school in a half hour."

"I don't want to go to school," he said at once. "I need to stay here with you."

That word 'need' made her very uncomfortable, extremely uneasy. What did he mean? She wasn't used to seeing him so adamant.

"I know you don't want to go," Mary tried to be sympathetic as she rubbed his hair. "But I don't want you to miss anymore _and_…" she nodded for emphasis. "There's someone here who wants to see you before you leave."

"Is it dad?" he asked eagerly.

Woof. God, that made her gut hurt.

"No, Sam," she said plainly. "He's still in the hospital. You know that, right?"

He wasn't stupid, so it kind of made her question stupid when she really stopped to think about it. But the way he was latching on to certain ideas – not to mention her neck – had her thrown for a loop. He never had issues with Brandi. He never had issues with anyone, frankly. He was easygoing like his father, not an uptight hard ass like his mother.

"I just thought…" he said in a little voice as he looked at the ground, and Mary began to regret how abruptly she'd tried to shake him back to reality.

"Never mind pal; its okay," she cut through him easily; trying to sound like it was no problem. "Head out into the living room and pick you something for breakfast…"

She released him to the ground and he ambled through the doorway on his own, Mary silent behind him. Once they were in the hallway, she saw that Griffin and Julian had not moved from their designated posts like Mary had placed them in time-out when she told them to stay put.

Still, when Sam saw who was waiting he bypassed the kitchen and picked up speed to the two Mann brothers.

"Sam!" Griffin called as he picked him up.

"Hey Sam!" Julian chimed in, giving him a hearty pat on the back. "Look at you man; you're huge! You gotta stop growing!"

"He's right you know," Griffin spoke up while Mary lingered in the hall, watching from afar. "Pretty soon you'll be catching up with Daniel and Quinn."

It was a sweet comment, seeing as how Sam adored his elder cousins with every fiber of his being. He was used to being top dog with Jesse around but out in Kansas he got to look up to another for once.

Seeing that Sam was momentarily distracted, if no less subdued, Mary appealed to Brandi who had joined her in the hallway.

"All right twenty words or less," she prompted, voice aching with exhaustion. "What's the matter with him? Why is he acting like this? Other than the obvious, I mean."

"I don't know," Brandi replied immediately in a low voice. "I think maybe he had a nightmare or something but he won't tell me about it."

Definitely peculiar. Sam ordinarily talked things over ad nauseam, usually with his father. To not share, at least in part, was pretty unprecedented.

Mary rubbed her temples, just trying to figure out how to handle this situation, trying to calculate being in two places at once. Worst of all was the attempt at improving Sam's outlook. Could she even do that when her own was so negative?

"You really look terrible," Brandi said bluntly. "Did something happen with Marshall?"

"No," she said without even really thinking about it. "I mean…nothing appreciable. They're putting him back in surgery to close his wounds but its routine…"

Nothing about this was routine and she needed to make it known.

"Or…as routine as gunshot victims get."

Brandi nodded, but the worrisome look didn't leave her eyes. Mary was only partially aware of this, watching Sam with Griffin and Julian and trying to work out how to deal with him at the same time.

"Will you be able to get some rest soon?" Brandi plunged on.

"Squish, I don't know," Mary snapped unintentionally. "I don't know. I don't know anything."

Even as she spoke the words she regretted them, knew that Brandi had gone above and beyond for her since the accident in taking care of both Sam and Jesse. But she was strung-out right now; spent and without food or sleep. And her son was a wreck, no matter how he functioned or what he said.

Nonetheless, she strode back to the Mann brothers and dealt with the easier situation at hand.

"Sam, bud…" she said, forcing herself not to use the names he had vetoed as she rumpled his pajama top beneath Griffin's arms. "Come grab some breakfast and then we'll get you dressed for school."

"Uncle Griffin and Uncle Julian can stay with us to eat, can't they?" he asked, turning awkwardly from his spot in Griffin's arms.

It was strange, Mary reflected, that Sam tacked on the proper titles for Griffin and Julian but Brandi was simply 'Brandi' and Peter was 'Peter' and that was that.

"Sure we can," Julian agreed before Mary had a chance to respond. "That hospital food gets laaaaaame after awhile," he teased, stretching out the 'a.'

Mention of the hospital did nothing to cheer Sam up, knowing that others could see his dad while he could not and Mary was becoming more and more lenient as time progressed in allowing him to visit. She knew those in the ICU would not approve of the suggestion and she was still reluctant, but she couldn't help wondering if it would improve his attitude toward things, if it would go anywhere in helping to calm his up-and-down behavior.

Once on the ground, Sam attached himself to her like a shadow, trailing around after her through the kitchen as she poured him a bowl of cereal and the men settled themselves at the island. It was more than a little odd, Mary wasn't afraid to admit.

Brandi wandered into their midst and Mary used this as an opportunity to fill the silence.

"Griffin – Julian, you remember my sister Brandi?" she said vaguely, lifting Sam up to sit beside his uncles to eat his cereal.

"Of course," Griffin nodded her direction. "Hi Brandi."

"Hi," her sister responded with a smile and a wave as she made her way fully into the kitchen.

"Thanks for all your help while this has been going on," Julian said.

Guilt on top of everything else wasn't something Mary needed, but it was a good segue.

"Yeah," she said, standing beside Sam and eating the cereal dry out of the box. "Thanks Squish."

It was clear from her face that Brandi appreciated it and, at least on that front, Mary felt a little better.

"No problem," she answered, posting herself on the other side of Sam and tousling his hair. "Can't keep me away from my Sammy boy."

Sam didn't look up; too busy shoveling in cereal with milk dripping from his chin. Mary wondered if it had been awhile since he'd eaten too.

"Do you guys want something to eat?" Brandi offered when Sam didn't say anything.

Mary realized she hadn't exactly been hospitable this morning, feeding her son and not her guests, not to mention scarfing down grains right out of the box. It hadn't even occurred to her. She wasn't exactly known for being a good hostess and under the circumstances; people really shouldn't expect anything more.

"Mary might've left you a few bites…" Brandi joked, peering into the cardboard which Mary snatched out of her reach.

Griffin and Julian chuckled politely at this, and shook their heads almost simultaneously.

"We can find something," Griffin said. "We won't be here long anyway."

This caused Sam to look up, mid-bite, not at his uncles but at his mother and the look on his face was most perplexing. She stopped eating as well; waiting to see what this was all about. His big blue eyes held not so much sadness as fear. This took her back to Brandi's prediction about the nightmare.

"You're leaving?" he asked hurriedly.

"Yeah…" Mary tried to stay casual, thinking he would've figured as much. "As soon as we get you off to school."

"Are you going to work?" he demanded, obviously alarmed by the very idea.

Mary exchanged a look with Brandi before responding and she set the box of cereal onto the island.

"No…" she began. "I'm going back to the hospital to be with dad."

Just saying it made her feel tired. The stark walls, the idle chatter, the crappy coffee. Marshall lying, still and remote in that bed with those tubes and those wires. She'd never wanted something so much and so little all at the same time.

"But you're not going to work?" Sam wanted to clarify with yet another odd look, as though he were daring to hope.

This was getting more and more sketchy by the minute and Mary almost wanted to pry him open for some answers but she was exhausted and they didn't have the time to spend at the moment.

"No," she shook her head. "I'll probably have to go in at the end of the week but Stan's been handling everything," she explained. "Okay?"

Sam nodded a little half-heartedly and went back to his cereal, finishing the rest of his meal in silence. It was an awkward one at that, Griffin and Julian just sitting there, Mary crunching the Alpha-Bits while Brandi stood with her arms-crossed, unable to make conversation. Once Sam was through, his mother took his bowl and he made a resigned march back to the bedroom to get dressed. Not overly comfortable leaving him by himself, especially when she hadn't seen him for a full day, Mary decided to accompany him.

As he sat on the bed, flannel shirt un-buttoned and pulling on his socks, impulse had Mary acting on what she'd been considering earlier.

"Sam…" she started to say, standing from her crouched position beside his dresser.

"Hmm?" he murmured absently, nearly whacking himself in the head with his foot.

She diverted back to the stooped form in front of his bed to try and look into his eyes. Slowly, she placed a hand on the knee that was dangling over the edge and he halted with both socks fully on now.

"What would you think…?" she swallowed, wondering already what had prompted this notion.

He was hanging on though, really listening and she couldn't let him down.

"What would you think if I took you to see dad?"

It was like a movie. His mouth even fell part-way open in surprise. He'd come to learn very quickly that Mary was the stricter of his two parents. She rarely had to discipline him, but his dad was fun and games and his mother much more protective and concerned that something was going to happen to him. Marshall's traditional upbringing versus Mary's much less conventional one only enhanced this.

"Could I?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Sam, look…" his mother was practically pleading, so tired she could drop down right here on the floor. "The place where he's staying in the hospital is called the ICU. It stands for the Intensive Care Unit and it might scare you," she tried to stay as even as she could, the way she usually approached testy situations with Sam. She had always been determined to treat him as an equal, whether he was or not.

"Dad's got a tube in his mouth to help him breathe and lots of others that are helping other parts of him that still aren't working right," she went on. "But he's not hurting – he's just not awake," she continued.

Sam stared at her, his eyes wide but enraptured with the descriptions. He had been given almost nothing on Marshall's condition, the idea being that if he couldn't see him there was no need to for him to know what sort of shape he was in otherwise.

Rubbing his knee gently, Mary forced out what she wanted to come next.

"Sam, this is going to sound harsh…"

"Harsh?" he furrowed his brow, interrupting.

"Mean," Mary clarified as best she could. "But I want you to know the truth. You can go and see dad and you can talk to him and tell him whatever you want, but being in a coma isn't like being asleep…"

She distinctly saw him swallow, but finally getting some answers did seem to help him slightly.

"He can't be woken up just by being talked to," Mary whispered. "You understand?"

Sam nodded, but went on, "But…how _does_ he wake up?"

Mary closed her eyes. She wanted to go to sleep. She wanted to go to sleep maybe even for years, and forget this ever happened, to not rouse until Marshall was better, until this whole episode of awfulness had ended.

"His brain activity has to improve," she managed, rather bluntly. "It has to start working the way it's supposed to again."

He was seven – he was just seven years old. There was no reason for him to have to go through this. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair.

"So Sam…" she said, pulling it all together. "If you're okay with all that – if you're feeling brave – I can take you this afternoon after school."

He was quiet for a minute, Mary wondering if maybe she shouldn't have tacked the need to be brave onto the stipulations. She didn't want him to feel like he was a wimp if he didn't go, but it appeared this was no problem.

"I want to."

She'd thought so. Unfortunately, there was no time to process this because Brandi returned in the doorway, leaning on its frame just as her sister had done.

"Mare?"

She turned and Sam looked up at his aunt.

"If you want me to take him, we're gonna have to leave."

Sam ordinarily rode the bus but she'd been willing to give him a late start this morning and let Brandi drop him off, in light of everything going on. Nodding, Mary stood up and Sam did the same. Silently, both of them followed Brandi back to the living room, Griffin and Julian still in the kitchen but standing at the counter now. Sam seemed to know his mother's leniency was not to be shared, and kept quiet as Brandi handed him his backpack, putting his lunch inside. It was a warm day and he didn't need his jacket with his flannel shirt.

It was then that Mary noticed it was still un-buttoned, just as Griffin and Julian joined her at the door.

"Just a second bud…"

She knelt, bag already on both shoulders, and fastened the knobs up his chest. The oddest sensation struck her heart at that moment – how she tied Marshall's ties, secured his cuffs when he was in a hurry. He loved being groomed like the nerd he was. But doing it for Sam just about killed her, and it made her feel stupid as well as sad.

"Be good," she cautioned, not even sure why, trying to bury the tears. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye mom," he said in a flat voice and in an act of kindness that was definitely his father's, he hugged her. Some of it was empty and obligatory but Mary didn't mind. She dragged her nails through the hair on the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go.

"Love you…" she whispered on spontaneity and emotion.

"Me too," he replied and both of them pulled apart.

"See you later Sam," Griffin said to fill the silence. "I know Uncle Julian and I are kind of late, but we set something up for your birthday," he went on in an enticing voice. "Tomorrow night sound good?"

Tomorrow seemed like an eternity from now and Mary didn't have a clue what they had planned. Nor did she care.

"What is it?" Sam asked in a curious voice, forgetting his troubles momentarily, knowing these uncles weren't even supposed to have been here for his birthday at all.

"Have to wait and see," Julian raised his eyebrows boyishly, impishly.

"Come on Sammy; we're gonna be late…" Brandi interrupted, taking him around the shoulder and steering him to the door.

Mary didn't know what else to say as she stood up and joined the brothers, couldn't forget the look on Sam's face as he looked over his shoulder at her, like he might never be coming back. Brandi turned as well as she opened the door.

"I'll call you, Mare," she said and her sister nodded as the door shut.

The second of uncomfortable silences met the three remaining individuals in the absence of Brandi and Sam. They simply stood, lost in thought or else thinking about what Marshall was going through back at the hospital, cut open and gutted like a fish on that table. Mary's mind, however, was with Sam. He needed his father. She did what she could, but it was plain – to her, at least – that she was a pretty poor substitute. She and Sam were nowhere near as close as he and Marshall. Ironic, considering who had the DNA and who didn't.

"So…" Griffin finally spoke, hands going to his pockets. "You guys want to head back?"

But Mary wasn't listening. She had gone blank again, unfocused and drained of whatever she had once possessed. Even in the confusion, the tears she had fought with Sam made their way out and there wasn't even an explanation for it this time. She couldn't enlighten where they'd come from or what was even wrong. She was just so-so tired.

Unfortunately, when she let out a pathetic sounding sob and had to reach up to wipe her eyes, both Mann brothers caught what was going on.

"Oh…hey, Mary…" Griffin peered low, as though to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was and then exchanged a glance with his brother. "Is it Sam?" he guessed. "He's just a kid…he's mixed up about what's going on…"

She shook her head, but was still surprised to feel Griffin's hand on her back. Crying women made him very uncomfortable.

"We don't have to go," Julian offered. "You can stay and get some sleep; one of us will stay with you…"

"Yes, absolutely…" Griffin nodded in agreement.

But this was not it. If only she could get the words out. But the minute she thought them, they spilled over like her mind had lost control of its buffer.

"I'm not Marshall…" she said in a constricted voice. "I'm not Marshall; he needs Marshall…"

Both brothers sighed in unison, Griffin continuing his awkward rubbing of her back, but the gesture was nice. It was something. And yet even as they got to the root of the issue, they looked at one another over Mary and Julian seemed to smile sadly.

"Well…" he said. "We do know a thing or two about that."

"What?" she asked, sniffling to try and get a grip.

"Are you kidding?" Julian continued. "Being the younger brothers? We've spent our entire lives knowing that it takes a class by itself to _be Marshall_."

"It's like trying to be the Pope," Griffin offered.

"Or the president," Julian interjected.

Both of them started laughing and Mary managed a shaky giggle, Griffin transferring his hand to pat her hair.

"You shouldn't aim so high Mary," Julian decided. "We figured out a long time ago that being the Boy Scout is a cut above. Do what you know – be who you are. Sam needs that as much as anything else."

They were right; she knew they were right. Griffin's hands were gentle on her hair. Not as soft or as comforting as Marshall, but pleasant of their own accord.

What was she going to do if something happened to Marshall and she lost all right to this family? This family she had never felt she deserved in the first place.

Seeing that Mary was not entirely calmed down, but not knowing why, Griffin stepped up and did something she never could've expected. He pulled her in next to him so her head rested against his chest. He was stronger than Marshall, burlier somehow, even rougher but she needed that glaring comparison to shake her back into the real world.

It was Julian who had his hand on her shoulder now as she dampened Griffin's shirt, trying to revel in the time spent together, in the kindness of these men that she couldn't bear to let go.

"I usually don't like hugs," she revealed dumbly, even as she clutched him.

Griffin chuckled lightly, Julian doing the same, and neither one relinquished their contact.

"That makes two of us, grouchy."

**A/N: I kind of wanted Griffin to break some barriers of his own! The brothers may be different from Marshall, less sensitive, but they are good people. ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I should reiterate that I don't own In Plain Sight.**

XXX

It was discovered by the time Griffin, Julian, and Mary returned to the hospital that Marshall's surgery had gone without incident. His wounds were sutured shut and he was back in his room. Although this should've brought even the tiniest ray of hope to Mary, it did nothing of the sort. Now there was nothing left to do but wait. Barring any complications, nothing else could be done for Marshall until he woke up – if he ever managed to.

Mary spent most of the morning in his room and the afternoon out in the waiting quarters to give Carolyn and his brothers some one-on-one time. It was lonely hour after lonely hour, made more so by the fact that she was battling insomnia and didn't feel at all like choking any food down, despite how she knew she needed it.

Therefore, she practically could've kissed Stan when he walked into ICU, jiggling her leg absently against the coffee cup that rested on her knee while her head lay lopsided on her shoulder.

"Afternoon inspector," he said in his low voice.

She stood, grateful for the excuse to do so, stretching her legs to say hello.

"Hi…" she said drowsily, blinking her eyes to try and appear more alert but it was apparent Stan wasn't buying it.

"Jesus, look at you…" he held her at arm's length, taking a leaf out of her book with the language. "Are you sleeping at all?"

She shook her head, taking a sip of coffee out of habit.

"Fits and starts," she managed with a swallow. "I'm waiting for Brandi; she's bringing Sam over."

Stan raised his eyebrows at this, but Mary hardly noticed.

"To see Marshall?"

"No Stan; to flirt with some of the nurses," she quipped.

"I see…" he settled on in response, hands going to his pockets as they usually did when he was nervous.

Mary was not in the mood to be judged and in the back of her mind knew that wasn't what Stan was doing, but she still felt the need to defend her decision.

"It's been long enough," she hissed, snakelike. "What am I going to tell him if Marshall dies and he never got to see him again? 'Sorry we never let you in on it; tough luck?' He's not going to live that way; he's not going to sit around wondering what the hell happened…"

"Mary, enough," Stan held up a hand to silence her. "You don't need to tell me twice."

She took a deep breath at these words, knowing she should not have snapped but she was irritable as well as miserable.

"You could really do with some rest, kiddo," he advised, still peering at her with scrutiny. "You're not careful; you're gonna make yourself sick."

Mary opened her mouth to respond with yet another snarky comeback when she got cut off by Carolyn, Griffin, and Julian returning from Marshall's room. The three of them looked a little worse-for-wear as well, but determined to hold up. They knew Sam was on his way and she had to admire them for soldiering through. Carolyn spotted Stan at once and immediately walked over to greet him.

"Mr. McQueen…" she stuck out her hand to shake. "It's so nice to see you again – so nice of you to come down here."

"No need to be so formal Carolyn," Stan inclined his head humbly as he clasped her fingers. "Mary and Marshall don't even call me Chief. And _they_ are in my employ," he shot Mary a devilish grin, a risky move considering her mood. "Stan is more than fine."

"Of course…" Carolyn shook her head, as though she was being silly. "I'm sorry…I forgot…"

"Oh, understandable; it's not a problem," Stan assured her.

She ignored this for the most part and turned to Mary, whom she had been doting on, Mary suspected out of need to make herself feel useful. It didn't do wonders for her, not used to having people take care of her, but she didn't intend to deny her the one thing she needed to continue functioning.

"How are you feeling honey?" she asked, fingering her hair lightly. "Did you get any sleep?"

This seemed to be the million dollar question, but Mary didn't intend to be truthful about it this time.

"Some," she lied, eyeing Stan as she said it.

"How about we go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat?" she suggested. "Before Sam shows up…"

But speak of the devil, there he was. He and Brandi had entered, Sam trailing on his aunt's hand. To Mary's intense displeasure, he already looked terrified. His eyes were wide as he took in all the sights and sounds, the grey walls, the noises on the intercom, the hurried doctors rushing past. He had shrunken in next to Brandi, like he was trying to keep it all from getting too close.

But Mary kicked it into gear, despite how worn out she was feeling.

"Hi Sam," she waved to him from her spot beside her boss, trying to smile but she knew she didn't quite pull it off. Beside her, she saw the other would-be-grins of her fellow mourners – whatever you wanted to call them – and imagined she looked much the same.

Brandi brought him over and once close enough, he moved from his aunt to his mother in a second, eyes still darting around feverishly.

"You all right?" Mary asked, unable to resist pulling him in beside her, next to her hip. "You can change your mind," she made sure to offer. "You don't have to go in."

Resolutely, Sam shook his head but his face still said otherwise. Those around attempted to sunny things up, and the first was Stan.

"How is my ruggedly handsome Mini Marshal doing at the moment?" he asked genially, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Sam shrugged, still sheltered in Mary's side, "I'm okay Chief," he answered properly.

The manners made Mary want to cry again, but even the sensation made her angry. She had to stop turning on the waterworks at every opportunity. Sam always called their boss Chief; it was a joke between the two of them and Marshall.

"Good to hear it solider," Stan replied with a salute, and Sam managed the same in return.

Griffin and Julian exchanged hellos with their nephew as well, as did Carolyn and Brandi, but Sam remained mostly silent, glued to Mary's side like a leech. She really wasn't used to having him so clingy. She supposed she understood but it still unnerved her slightly. Marshall was much better at comforting than Mary. She was never quite sure how to handle it, proven by the way she'd broken the news to Sam just four days before.

"You ready to go bud?" she asked, looking down into his blue eyes, the way they twinkled and shone.

Small talk had no place in this universe.

"By myself?" he whispered, so quietly Mary almost didn't hear.

Why had she not prepped him better for this?

"Sam, no," she told him, trying to sound calm. "I'll go with you," she patted his hair.

This seemed to relieve him marginally, but his eyes left Mary's and traveled to Carolyn's before he spoke up again.

"Could…?" he ducked his head shyly, but kept on. "Could Grandma come with us too?"

"Sure…" Mary said uncertainly, glancing at her mother-in-law for approval, wondering if she should've spoken for her.

"I'd be honored," Carolyn's corniness even rivaled Marshall's sometimes, but Mary appreciated it just the same.

"All right…" Mary really wanted to get this moving, the whole situation making her more anxious than she could've anticipated. "Let's go."

Already having had words with Doctor Seager about letting Sam through to see Marshall, there was no need to inform anyone of their entrance at this point and the three of them made for the double doors beyond that would take them to his dad.

Her son's eyes continued to skirt all around as Mary held tight to his hand, wanting to keep him within reach, running through all sorts in her head as they passed the rooms she was used to seeing. She tried to prepare herself for what kinds of questions he might ask, how he would react, whether he would attempt to speak to Marshall or remain silent. There was no way of knowing, and Mary hated that. Stressful situations concerning Sam had been few and far between before now and she had always counted on Marshall to handle those that had cropped up in the past.

They arrived at Marshall's room and Mary pulled open the door, walking side-by-side with Sam, Carolyn behind them. She decided not to speak for fear that she would ruin the experience before they even got inside.

Yet, as many times as she'd seen Marshall as such since he'd been shot, attempting to view him through Sam's eyes was a whole other world. The chunking sound of the ventilator seemed so much louder, the tube out his mouth much longer. All the other wires and pipes seemed multiplied, like there were ones she'd never even noticed before now. And the stillness. She never got used to the stillness.

Sam's feet seemed glued to the floor. Mary tugged him forward, his hand unusually small in her own. He kept swallowing and staring – swallowing and staring over and over.

"You can talk to him," Mary prompted in a quiet voice as though they could be disturbing her husband. "You can tell him anything you want."

Sam did not appear capable of speaking. Carolyn stood behind them, unobtrusive but physically present which was just the way Mary liked it. She tried to watch her child for signs of something – anything – that might tell her what he was thinking. That was when she noticed his eyes. They were fixed on a spot about halfway down the bed, on Marshall's wrist where the IV was placed in his vein. As soon as she spotted it, he got the words out.

"There's a shot…in his arm?"

He sounded so young and so innocent and all Mary could think about how vastly unfair and unjust this was. She could not get over the unmerited consequences he was facing.

"It's an IV," Mary explained, squeezing his hand. "Stands for intravenous."

She knew Marshall would go into detail, if it were him.

"It's a really-really thin needle and it's giving him food since he's not awake to eat," she said. "Remember I told you; it doesn't hurt him. He's not hurting – he can't feel anything."

What she had thought would be a comfort was apparently the wrong thing to say.

"But if he can't feel anything…?" he stared up at her now, misunderstanding etched in every single inch of his face. "How will he wake up?"

He looked so unhappy, so sad and Mary was regretting this instantly. She had made things infinitely worse, acted on impulse and being overtired. She was a complete idiot.

"Well…" she hurried to rectify, trying to step a little closer to the bed but Sam wouldn't move with her. "He doesn't feel anything _now_ but later…"

Sam wasn't listening. He was shaking his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the lifeless form of his father. Mary was startled to see that tears were rolling down his cheeks, that he had become so horrified so quickly. What had she expected, really? He was just seven years old.

But before she could fix anything, he went right on talking.

"He's all white…he's all white and he's not moving…" he said, voice trembling.

"Sam, he lost some of his blood; that's why he's white…" Mary yanked her hand free and knelt down next to him, using his terminology. "But he's getting some more…"

That wasn't really right, but who cared?

"And remember I told you he wouldn't be moving but that doesn't mean he can't hear you…"

What did it really matter if she lied anymore? The truth wasn't getting her anywhere.

"I want him to wake up…" Sam cowered away from the bed, his whole face slick with tears now. "I want him to wake up…"

It was the saddest request Mary had ever heard and she'd had enough. Her lunatic idea had taken her too far. Taking up his hand once more, she stood and was headed back to the door.

"Sam, it's okay – let's go…" she rushed with him by her side, past Carolyn who was clearly distraught in her grandson's pain.

As if things couldn't get any worse.

"Mary…" the woman reached out to touch her arm, to reassure her, but it was pointless now. Mary didn't believe any of it.

"Stay with him," she swallowed past the cottony feeling in her throat. "Please stay here with Marshall…"

It was the first childish appeal she'd made, proving she still, somewhere far back in her mind, thought Marshall was at all aware and knew if someone was with him or not, if someone was speaking to him or not. She didn't want him to be alone.

"Okay…" she agreed with a swallow of her own. "Bless his heart…" she murmured to herself, just as she had done upon first seeing Sam in the living room.

He was in a full-fledged panic by the time Mary managed to get him out into the hall, shivering and shuddering and more frightened than she'd ever viewed him. This whole ordeal had her believing at every turn she couldn't possibly feel any worse but she continued to be surprised. Nothing thus far had been this bad.

Kneeling down in front of him right outside the door, Mary took his hands in hers, wanting him to focus.

"Sam, listen…" she began, but he cut her off.

"I don't want to come back until he's awake," he sobbed, droplets falling into his flannel now. "I don't want to come back until he's awake!"

"Bud, that's okay…" Mary promised him, trying her very hardest to sound gentle. "That's okay; you don't have to…"

"Are you mad I didn't stay?" he hiccupped between every other word.

"Sam, no…of course not…"

What kind of mother was she, that he would think that?

"But I wasn't brave…I got scared…" he admitted, the thought making him cry harder, his shoulders actually shaking with tremors.

"Sam, I _told_ you it would be scary," she reminded him forcefully. "Remember? I was scared too the first time I saw him…"

"But I wanted him to know I was there…I wanted him to remember me…" his eyes darted back to the door, but was clearly grateful he couldn't see in.

This view was so heartbreaking Mary really had to fight not to burst into tears of her own.

"Listen to me…" she murmured, still holding tight onto both of his hands.

She waited until he was ready, waited until he could get himself a little more under control before she continued.

"Nothing in the entire world could make dad forget you," she told him in a hushed voice. "Nothing."

At least he had that, if nothing else, which was more than she had ever gained from her own father.

Sam sniffled pitifully, nodding his head, but didn't respond. Maybe he couldn't. Mary didn't know. Suddenly, she felt exhausted all over again. A confession might help.

"Sam, this is all my fault," she said directly.

Everything was her fault.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I won't bring you back until dad wakes up."

If he woke up. Jesus, this was killing her from the inside out.

Sam nodded again, too kind to agree to her proclamation, too scarred by the experience to tell her otherwise. She didn't have a clue what she was doing here. No hugs, no tears of her own, no nothing. Just hands intertwining inside each other.

"Come on…" she heard, even of her own accord, how strung-out she was. "You're going home," she decided, standing up and trying to steer him down the hall.

"I don't want to stay with Brandi," he said bluntly, not moving his feet for the second time and shaking his head, excess tears flying. "I don't want to…"

The begging broke her. Normally something she hated, it was everything she could no longer fight.

"It's fine…" she sighed, patting his back. "I'll stay at home with you tonight. Just you and me, okay?"

Why was she trying to make it sound inviting, she reflected as she dragged her son back to the waiting room. How many nights ahead included just the two of them? God only knew.

**A/N: I really hope nobody is too disappointed and/or depressed with Sam's less than favorable reaction to seeing Marshall. I think both he and Mary thought it would make him feel better, but poor Sam just wasn't prepared for what he was going to see. But his mama tried, and that's what matters! **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Infinite love to my readers!**

XXX

"_Maybe you'd get respect if you ever actually did something to earn it."_

"_I remembered it's none of your Goddamn business."_

"_Holy crap; I hate you…"_

"_I love you like an eight dollar whore…"_

"_Mom! Mom!"_

"_Leave it…"_

"_Mom…!"_

The quotes and words of years past shook Mary roughly from the first two hours of sleep she'd gotten in awhile, not to mention actually in her bed when it was dark outside. But something about them lingered – like a stench, a loitering buzz, like they hadn't completely evaporated in the presence of consciousness. The bedroom was black and still but for the sound of her deep breathing at her return to alertness. The digital clock told her it was just after one AM.

What had she been hearing before she'd woken up? What had shaken her?

The answer came, not in her mind, but right out-loud, just feet down the hall.

"MOM!"

Sam.

She clambered straight out of bed, swinging her legs over the side, dressed in her usual pajamas of striped drawstring and button-up thermal. Pattering down the hall at lightning speed, she wasn't there before he called for her again, frightened and lost.

"Mom…!"

She threw his door open, his room just as dark and just as dank but for the tiny nightlight plugged into the wall beside the bed. Even the small bit of yellow bathed his face in a glowing orb where she saw that tears were streaming down his cheeks at a rate she had never witnessed. He was drenched and trembling, not even having bothered to sit up but it was obvious he had fought his blankets before being shaken from his nightmare. They were all twisted in rat tails as though he'd been thrashing around.

But the minute he heard the door, his face met hers in a kind of sick disbelief.

"Mom…?" he gasped for about the fifth time.

She didn't spare a second to answer him. She was there, pulling his covers back, sitting in his sheets. Her presence made him start sobbing all over again. She knew then this was not going to be solved with words of wisdom or even reassurances. He needed to be held.

"Sam…" she guided him into a sitting position. "Sam…come here baby…"

She'd meant to say 'bud' as she always did, even more so lately in the absence of 'sheriff' and 'Smush' but it had come out something entirely different. He didn't even notice however, as Mary pulled him up and into her arms. He splayed his limbs over her back, sitting in her lap, still crying to beat the band.

"Shh…" she said out of habit, rubbing his back as his head rested beside hers. "Shh…you're safe…" she assured him. "You're safe…"

"You were gone…" he gulped, barely distinguishable behind her. "You were gone 'cause I turned seven…you said I was seven and didn't need me anymore…"

Why in the hell had she ever told him about James? It would give even the most rational person nightmares.

"And dad was…" he was shuddering. "He was…"

Words weren't needed this time. Dad was likely dead.

"I thought you left me…" he bawled, switching tactics slightly, Mary refusing to let go of him.

"I thought you left and were never coming back…"

"Oh Sam…" she breathed, guilt masking the pain in her heart. "You're my boy…"

It was all she could think of to say to express what she was thinking.

"I would never leave you behind," she rubbed his hair, kissed the crown of his head. "My daddy left me but that doesn't mean I'm leaving you. I know how bad that makes you feel; I would never do that to you."

She never knew if her words were sufficient to Marshall's when dealing with episodes like this. She was also trying to forget the fact that she very nearly _had_ left him – or tried to give him away before she'd even known who he was or what he could bring to her life. It was only because of Marshall that she hadn't made that decision.

Thoughts of Marshall had her holding him tighter, realizing if not for his being shot none of this would've happened. She wouldn't have to think about times when she had never wanted children, about her inadequacies, about what she was going to do with her son if his father died without actually, officially being his father. He'd just be left with her and some faceless individual named Mark he saw barely once a month.

"You miss your dad, Sam?" she asked, knowing the answer even before he quivered again and nodded against her temple.

"I do too," she told him honestly. "I miss him a lot."

More than all the stars in the sky, more than James and her childhood and every other luxury she'd felt she'd been denied. Her life had never been the idealized version she painted for herself; some five years of bliss and then this. What was the point of living in happiness only to have it snatched at a moment's notice?

After a minute or two, Mary rocking her son now, he spoke from behind her.

"My tummy hurts."

"Oh yeah…?" she inquired, more evenly than she'd even meant to.

Forced to tug back from him, he was perched in her lap, wiping his eyes fervently to no avail. His face was blotchy and red, eyes pink-rimmed and tired. He nodded at her question even as he tried to calm down.

"Show me where," she instructed.

He put a hand to his stomach, so high he was nearly in his ribs, but his palm lay flat on the surface and he didn't hesitate.

"Hmm…" Mary hummed, faking thought.

Slowly, she placed her hand beside his so their fingers touched, feeling the space together.

"Maybe you better come sleep in my room with me," she said quietly. "That way I'll be with you if you get sick."

She knew he wasn't sick. Knew his so-called pain was either stress or mental, phantom-like and fleeting. But she couldn't leave him alone – not now, not when he was so upset and so scared he was going to be left. He'd never had issues sleeping in his own bed; Mary had nipped that one in the bud quickly, even when Marshall pleaded to let him climb in with them. With a pang, it was depressing that he wasn't here to witness it now.

"Could I mom?" Sam asked earnestly. "Just for tonight?"

She took up the hand hers was resting next to and patted his fingers, knowing somewhere deep down his desire not to be seen as a wuss was one of the few things he'd inherited from her.

"Sure bud."

Without further ado, she untangled her legs and hoisted him off the bed and into her arms. He wound his legs around her waist and let his head fall into her chest. The gesture was sweet, something he rarely did on purpose, and she wanted to thank him for it if only he would understand how much it meant.

"Jesus, big guy…" she found herself playing with him as she carried him back to her bedroom. "You weigh a ton. When did you get so strong?"

She was placating him and she knew it, but she didn't want him to feel worse about anything, least of which was succumbing to a little comfort.

She deposited him on Marshall's side of the bed and he stretched out his legs inside the sheets. Wordlessly, she pulled the blankets up over him so only his head was visible beneath the covers. Then she went around and climbed in next to him where he immediately snuggled into the curve of her stomach, inching his way into her groove. She decided to stay sitting up for a little while until he got sleepy again, stroking his hair as he shut his eyes.

"How's your belly?" she asked, wanting to see if her little idea had done the trick.

"Better."

Mary nodded and rumpled his hair at this. At least she knew a few things.

The two of them sat in silence for a little while – Mary lost track of the time as her rhythmic stroking of Sam's hair put her into a kind of trance. She wanted to stay awake until he dozed off, until he carried himself into shadows that included her protecting him from whatever demons circled in his mind. He'd had a rough day. A rougher day than anyone should have to experience.

She was nearly asleep herself, long after she believed he'd already drifted away when his little voice surprised her.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?" she murmured, trying not to jolt.

A pause – a sigh from Sam before the question.

"Did you ever get shot?"

She was too exhausted for this right now. He was too, he just didn't know it.

"Go to sleep Sam."

As if it was that simple.

"Did you?" he pressed without moving or opening his eyes.

It was her own fault, really, for stuffing him full of the truth whenever he asked – the whole ugly, messy, nasty truth, whether he needed it or not he had come to expect it.

"Yes."

This, evidently, was not all he was looking for.

"Where at?"

Sometimes statements weren't adequate, not satisfactory enough to tell the whole story. Besides, her phrases never really did much for Sam. It was his father who was good with words, not her.

Without responding, without even tearing her eyes from the top of his head, she used her free hand to draw the blankets away from both of them. A chill reached her that she wasn't sure came from the absence of covers. There, she exposed her stomach by lifting up the thermal of her shirt, her skin smooth and soft underneath. Even in the dim light of the outdoors beyond the window, her scar seemed to stand out against the darkness. A perfect ridge around her belly-button, long and thin. She could still see the marks where she'd been stitched together – faint, but not erased.

Sam cautiously reached out a finger and ran it along the crease. It tickled her, almost. So gentle and light.

"Just like dad?" he looked up at her then, interest in his blue eyes, still shiny from tears.

She nodded her reply.

"Did it hurt?" he wondered in a small voice, eyes back to the bedspread.

"Not when it happened, no," she told him quietly, pulling her shirt back down, redoing the covers. "I don't remember much until about two weeks after it happened."

Did he know how long two weeks was? Had Marshall taught him that? She didn't know.

"How long ago was it?" he prodded in a whisper.

With a sigh that was tired and not annoyed, "About…two years before you were born."

Did he know how long two years was?

"Did dad ever get shot before?"

He was the question man even at 1:30 in the morning. He never missed an opportunity to expand on his knowledge, despite how uncomfortable and uneasy the whole conversation made his mother. In an attempt to maybe settle him down again, she positioned the covers around and slipped down beside him inside of sitting up. He squirmed himself in next to her chest, just as he'd done when he was a baby and had tasted that shelter.

"Once," she whispered as they lay side by side. "I was with him that time."

"You were?"

"Mmm hmm…" she said indistinctly. "We were out in the middle of the desert; he got hit in the shoulder, but he was okay."

She'd never told anyone the details of Marshall's shooting, unable to do so in keeping with WITSEC policy. But Sam was smart. He always seemed to know what a secret was and what wasn't. He'd learned long ago details of his parent's jobs weren't to be repeated. She was lucky, really, he was so intelligent.

Lucky.

"Did you save his life?" as he eased his eyes shut again.

Mary found herself grinning softly against her will, head getting lost in the confines of the pillow as she stared into the face of her son.

"No," she answered honestly. "He saved himself."

She fully expected, 'how?' to come next but Sam seemed to find this a reasonable explanation and didn't ask for any more facts. It was only an adoring son who could believe his daddy hung the moon and flew like Superman and was brilliant enough to rescue himself from the bad guys.

"Were you scared?" was his question instead.

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her with his lids closed.

"Yes."

"I don't think you should be around the criminals anymore, mom," he murmured. "They hurt people. Something bad could happen to you."

And even in her fatigue, Mary practically felt the puzzle pieces slide into place. It clicked – Sam's obsession with her going to work, his desire to watch over her, nightmares about her or Marshall leaving or being killed. His parents weren't just 'cops with a twist' anymore. They got gunned down in the middle of the desert and fought for their lives, and for no good reason.

"You're right pal…" she found herself saying. "Criminals do hurt people," she kissed his hair, staring blankly through the darkness. "Go to sleep...I'm here…"

This seemed to soothe him and he nodded, silent for the first time all evening, the breathing through his nose stuffy from crying.

But Mary knew rest wasn't coming easily for her tonight. Because with every other 'what if?' that had been swirling in her mind, another had just been added to the pile.

If something happened to her husband – even if it didn't – could they afford to be Marshal's any longer? Would their son survive the terror?

**A/N: Mary loves 'her boy' there is no denying! Theirs is my favorite 'new' relationship to write.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Well, I can't thank you all enough for the feedback. I'm glad you didn't find the last chapter overly dramatic; that seemed to be the general consensus. I'm glad you got a break from the gloom – as you will in this chapter.**

XXX

It was a sleepy Tuesday for both Mary and Sam, but she still forced him off to school, hoping it would distract him if nothing else. Per usual, she was back at the hospital for the remainder of the day, feeling so awful it really was a wonder she hadn't gotten sick. Her head hurt constantly and she was forever on the verge of falling asleep standing up but was so worried about both Marshall and Sam she couldn't fully embrace the snoozing.

Both she and Brandi were at home that evening, feeding Sam and Jesse their dinner of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese when there was a knock on the door. Brandi had been pressuring Mary for the last hour to go back to her bedroom and take a nap but she continued to refuse, knowing something was going to happen but she just couldn't remember what.

Leaving her sister to deal with the boys, she dragged herself over to answer and found Griffin and Julian on the other side.

"Hey…" she welcomed them uncertainly, doubt beginning to creep in before she invited them inside. "Everything okay?"

Not Marshall. He wasn't worse. Nothing had happened without her there. She'd have known – she'd have felt it, somehow.

"Yeah; we're just taking a break for a little while," Griffin said. "To give Sam the surprise."

She just stared at them blankly, trying to figure out what they were talking about. What surprise? A good surprise – a bad one? Meanwhile, she just stood with the door half open, her mouth much the same.

"A surprise…" she stated, hoping this might jog something.

"Yeah," Julian nodded patiently. "You know, for his birthday? We talked about it when we were here yesterday morning?"

Right – right. Sure. She was starting to vaguely recall now. Sam had asked what it was, perhaps. They'd said he had to wait and see.

"Oh…" she shook her head, trying to appear coherent with little success. "Right. Come in…"

And she finally stepped aside and allowed them over the threshold, shutting the door behind them. She noticed at once they had nothing with them – no gifts, no packages or boxes or bows. They were thoroughly empty-handed and Mary decided to figure out why before Sam saw them and became disappointed.

"Is this the invisible surprise?" she inquired.

"No," Julian laughed. "Where's your laptop?"

She jerked her head at the coffee table where it was resting, plugged in and charging as it always was when she wasn't using it. Julian nodded his approval and dove off toward it to set up whatever he was planning. Mary decided it wasn't her job to worry about it, too tired to expend the energy and directed Griffin into the kitchen where the two boys were finishing their meal at the island. Brandi was nearby, tearing Jesse's chicken into smaller pieces.

"Hi Griffin," Brandi greeted the middle brother with a smile.

"Brandi," he nodded her direction and stepped over to the dark-haired of the two boys. "Hey Sam," he mussed up his waves in back, causing him to duck out of his reach with a reluctant grin. "Who's your partner in crime?"

Mary couldn't help but smile, even briefly. He was a Mann, after all. He was well-trained in the ways of young boys. The fact that he had donned them a pair of such proportions won him huge points.

"This is my nephew, Jesse," Mary introduced them. "Jess, this is Uncle Marshall's brother, Griffin."

"And that hack in the living room who is sure to crash your computer system is Julian," the man replied.

"Don't listen to him, men!" Julian called and both boys giggled.

It made Mary's heart sing to see Sam smile. Although she wasn't much for his up-and-down, off-the-chart mood changes, she knew the presence of the Mann brothers could do a lot for him. They reminded him of Marshall.

"I figured this good-looking stallion must belong to Brandi," Griffin continued, eyeing the shiny blonde hair, the innocence in their features. "How you doing man?" and he stuck out his fist, which Jesse pounded at once.

"I'm the outlaw," he informed the man proudly. "Sam's the sheriff."

Mary's heart picked up speed a little at the titles, knowing that Sam had requested – forcefully at that – not to be called as such any longer. Hoping not to ruin the one decent moment they'd had in days, she stepped over to her child and cuffed his shoulder.

"But we just call him Sam, right?" she reminded them, eyeing Griffin as he said it and hoping he would get the message.

Sam nodded, and fortunately did not choose to pitch a fit over it, swallowing his macaroni and cheese.

"I knew a thing or two about being the outlaw in my day," Griffin said in an undertone, stepping over to Jesse and winking. "Bad guys have more fun, right?"

"For real!" Jesse exclaimed and even this earned a grin from Sam.

Mary still wasn't sure she understood his reluctance, his fear about what was going to happen to her and Marshall if they stayed their course as federal employees. She _did_ understand the theory of course – his father had been shot and both he and his mother were in the line of fire daily. There was no hiding it from him now. But he still seemed perfectly content to play pretend, to lose himself in worlds of weaponry, pure, and evil. How did he separate the two?

Still, she supposed that for now she would take it if it kept him happy, even if she couldn't figure it out.

"So Sam…" Griffin fired away, unusually talkative. "When you finish your dinner, Julian and I have got that birthday plan lined up for you. We talked about that yesterday, remember?" he clearly thought he had forgotten judging from Mary's reaction.

Sam, apparently, had not suffered the same fate. He shoved a chicken nugget in his mouth at the same moment he shoveled in a whole forkful of macaroni and washed it down with his glass of milk.

"I'm done," he managed with an enormous swallow.

"Like mother like son," Brandi chimed in, referring to Mary's tendency to eat like a horse.

He still had a nugget left on his plate and a small pile of macaroni but he rarely abandoned his dinner and this was different. It was a unique night – a unique set of circumstances. She didn't intend to deprive him of anything else, despite how steadfast she was in not becoming a pushover even though things were so terrible.

"Better go see what Julian set up," she told him and before she could get there, Griffin had already lifted him off the stool and he'd raced into the living room.

"Can I go?" Jesse appealed to Brandi and Mary noticed he still had quite a bit of food on his plate.

"Finish," his mother instructed. "Let Sam have a minute by himself."

Her sister really was sweet sometimes. Even if it came at the expense of Jesse, who pouted with the directions.

Leaving the two of them, Mary ventured into the living room behind Griffin and turned on the lamp beside the couch to give them more light. Standing behind the sofa, she watched Julian perched beside the coffee table and Griffin sitting beside Sam in front of the computer screen.

"A present _might_ be better Sam," Julian conceded. "But this is the best we've got."

Wiggling the mouse, the screen came to life and Mary instantly recognized the makeup of a Skype session – an empty living room she thought she had seen maybe once before but couldn't quite process where. Something about the couch was familiar – the chair off to the right.

"You guys there?" Julian called from behind the head of the laptop.

"Who is it…?" Sam asked, his eyes flicking from Griffin to Julian and back again.

But before anyone could answer, the faces of two boys appeared – thirteen and sixteen, one with lively eyes and a goofy grin, the other more serious but steadfast – both of them waving cheerily from three states away. Sam actually gasped like he was in some corny-ass movie and even standing above him; Mary saw his mouth turn up on the ends.

"Hi Sam!" Quinn called; voice halfway between boy and man.

"Hey Sam!" Daniel waved from beside his cousin.

"Mom!" he whirled around to look up at her and the smile on his face was paramount; she could've cried. "It's Daniel and Quinn!"

Both Griffin and Julian laughed at this, Mary trying not to become too cheesy but it was hard.

"I know," she nodded at the screen. "You better talk to them, bud!"

He took this advice to heart and turned back around; Julian stood and joined him on his right side on the couch so he was bookended by him and Griffin.

"We heard your birthday kind of sucked Sam," Daniel continued which earned him a stern, "Language, Dan!" from Julian.

"Just calling it like I see it dad," Daniel waved the comment away, but Sam could practically be sprouting light out his ears he was beaming so brightly. Mary found it ironic Julian was schooling anyone on the pitfalls of having a mouth, since he was known to have one himself.

"Anyway, sorry we don't have any gifts Sam…" the elder cousin began again.

"But we didn't want _everything_ to be an epic fail," Quinn chimed in.

"Quinn, nobody says 'epic fail' anymore," Daniel groaned with a sad shake of his head. "You are _such_ a dweeb."

"Cause people really say 'dweeb' these days…" Quinn murmured under his breath.

Mary couldn't help noticing that Sam had quickly vanished from the conversation but it was clear he could not have cared less. He was almost bouncing up and down in his excitement. Mary knew the high came from so much turmoil in the last few days; he rode the peaks as hard as he rode the valleys.

"Hey guys…" Griffin interjected, obviously noticing the same thing as Mary. "Maybe focus here?"

"Teenagers," Julian threw Mary a roll of his eyes over the back of the couch.

"Right," Daniel nodded and got back on track. "So how's your dad Sam? You miss him I bet."

"Uh-huh…" Sam nodded sadly, but Mary became less worried about him falling apart. For now, he was safe.

"I saw him yesterday and he didn't look anything like I thought. I really want him to wake up," he admitted, sounding younger than he had in a long time.

"He will, man," Daniel decided. "We've known Uncle Marshall a long time and he's really tough."

"He's the toughest geek _I_ know," Quinn chose to share, which earned him what looked to be a very hard elbow from Daniel. "Ouch! Geez Dan!"

"You call this helping?" his cousin snapped while Quinn rubbed his shoulder.

"Don't be such a bossy know-it-all; you're worse than Sarah!" the thirteen-year-old accused.

"You want to get insulting…?" Daniel threatened.

"Guys-guys!" Griffin shouted, waving his hands in front of the screen while they bickered but Sam was laughing like it was a comedy hour.

Love really was pure when you stopped to think about it, Mary reflected as she watched all the men at their separate corners, some arguing, some squealing, some caught in the middle. These were people that made the effort no matter what.

"Say, where is Sarah?" Griffin inquired loudly to shut them up, his gaze on Quinn. "Didn't your mom drive you three over to Aunt Kim's? Tell me her and Sophie did not beg to take the Corolla out again."

How old were these kids? How much time had elapsed that Mary had lost track of? If Daniel was sixteen and Quinn was thirteen than the twins must be…?

"How old are Sophie and Sarah now?" Mary leaned over to ask neither brother in particular.

It was Uncle Julian who answered, "Almost eighteen. They turn right after Thanksgiving."

Jesus. They were only nine years old when Mary had met them; frighteningly identical and very precocious. And Thanksgiving? It seemed so far away and yet so close. Would Marshall be awake by then?

"Mom let them go out with friends," Quinn reported, to which Griffin sighed.

"Claire's here though," Daniel informed them.

"Claire's there too?" Sam almost exploded, not giving a damn that he was barely getting a word in edgewise.

"Dan, why don't you go grab her?" Julian suggested to his son. "Sam can talk to Quinn."

Daniel did so without complaint, at which point Mary felt her own kind of hope balloon in her stomach. Circumstances, situations, horror and heartache aside, no matter how Mary tried to hide her adoration, she loved Claire. The absence of Daniel gave her time to calculate her age as well – somewhere around eleven, give or take. She reminded her the most of Marshall; sweet and sensitive, always calm and moderate in her temperament. But fierce; cross her and watch out.

Sam chattered animatedly with Quinn about a few of his birthday weapons, and after a few moments Daniel reappeared in the frame dragging Claire by the hand. Her hair was longer than Mary had once remembered, much further past her shoulders and not as pale strawberry. But she also looked infinitely more grown up, her locks shiny, straight, and dark blonde. Mary could see her freckles dancing across her nose even through the screen.

"Hi Claire!" Sam called at the top of his voice.

"Hey Sammy!" she waved and shoved Quinn out of the way with her butt to make room on the couch. "Happy birthday!" she sang, as though this were perfectly natural, as if they had the date exactly right.

"Thank-you," Mary's boy said politely.

At that moment, Jesse managed to weasel his way into the action, forcing Griffin to nudge aside so he could sit next to his best buddy.

"Who's that?" Jesse pointed at the three older individuals on the screen.

Sam launched into a full-fledged introduction, no help required.

"That's my cousin Daniel!" he pointed him out as the sixteen-year-old waved. "And my other cousin Quinn…" the younger male signaled this time. "And my other cousin Claire…" she wiggled her fingers. "And I have two more, Sophie and Sarah and they look just alike because they're twins; that means they were born at the same time and they have the same face, but they're not really the same on the inside…"

Mary had to laugh as Brandi joined her sister behind the couch. She remembered vividly Marshall's first conversation with Sam concerning what twins really were – just because they looked alike didn't mean they were the same person. There had been a much more detailed description involving more than Mary thought a child needed to know, but it was clear Sam had latched onto it. He did that with everything Marshall taught him.

"Who's your friend, Sam?" Daniel asked, eyeing the younger, blonder of the two boys.

"My best friend Jesse," he said proudly.

"Also his cousin," Griffin chimed in with a glance at Brandi, who smiled warmly.

"Cool," Daniel and Quinn said in unison, sounding more obligatory but polite just the same.

"Hi Jesse," Claire went the extra mile. "It's nice to meet you."

Marshall. Marshall _everywhere_.

When the chatter and hellos turned more conversational – to video games and toys and school and everything else that kids talked about, Mary decided it was okay to leave Sam at the scene for a few minutes with his uncles.

Touching Brandi's arm she said, "I'm gonna clean up in the kitchen."

Although Mary had not intended it as such – at least not consciously – Brandi took this to mean she needed assistance and followed her there. Grabbing the boys' plates, she dumped the leftovers in the garbage as Brandi rinsed out their milk glasses.

"We haven't had a chance to talk in awhile," Brandi mused cautiously as Mary placed the dishes in the sink.

"What the hell do you mean?" Mary replied with half her usual snark. "We talk all the time."

"Not about what's going on," Brandi refined what she was speaking of. "About who's taking Sam to school, about whose house he's staying at tonight, about whether or not I packed his lunch…"

"I get it Squish," Mary interrupted, making a lot of excess noise with the dishwasher so Sam himself wouldn't hear. "You're taking care of my son and I'm not."

"Mary," Brandi said seriously, with a much more critical eye than the former was used to. "That is not what I meant and you know it."

"Then say the words, Brandi," Mary got in her face, using her real name this time and all the pent-up exhaustion she was fighting returned in full-force. "Ask whatever the hell you want to ask and move on. You think I have time to beat around the bush like this?"

Although Brandi adopted a softer, more sympathetic tone, her point was no less clear.

"Are you okay?"

A question so simple, so ridiculous for the moment did not endear Mary to conversation in the least.

"Sure Squish; I'm fantastic," she bit with sarcasm. "My husband is in the hospital and my son is a wreck and God only knows if Marshall is going to come out of this alive or even the same as he was when he went in…"

"Mary…" Brandi said once more, placing a hand on her shoulder as they stood sentry in front of the sink. "I didn't ask you because I'm a moron. I asked you because I want you to know I'm _here_ to talk if you need to."

She let her eyes wander to what was going on in the living room to make sure Sam wasn't listening and continued.

"I am more than happy to help in whatever way you need me to – I will be Sam's wrangler until the cows come home…"

The western reference made the hurt lift a little.

"But I'm also your sister," Brandi reminded her. "And I see you – I see you fall apart and dart away and I can't imagine the hell that you're in but I'm not as stupid as all that," she pressed her palm into Mary's shoulder. "I can't imagine but I can try."

Mary sighed, long and low as she closed her eyes, knowing if she snapped at Brandi now she would be the ultimate bitch. At the same time, she wasn't in the mood to bust at the seams, especially not with Sam five feet away. What she wanted was to sleep – sleep uninterrupted by haunting dreams and reporting doctors and nightmares of her seven-year-old son.

"Squish…" she said in a quiet voice, eyes on the ground; the distant babble of the cousins like a fantasy universe in the next room. "I know…" she shut her eyes again. "I know…that you aren't stupid."

That may have been the first time she'd admitted that.

"And I know…that you're trying to help but I can't do this right now," she shook her head in a pleading way. "I need to get Sam to bed…I need to…"

"You need to rest," Brandi interrupted. "Jesse and I will stay over tonight; I'll have Peter bring his things."

At this point, Mary would've agreed to anything.

"Okay," she nodded. "Thank-you."

Brandi returned it with a nod of her own before Mary spoke again.

"Can you ruin the first happy moments he's had in a week too?" she asked with a grimace.

Brandi smiled and patted her arm, "Sure."

And without hesitation she strode into the living room, leaving Mary behind to watch her appeal to the boys.

"Sam!" she called. "Jesse! Time for pajamas!"

There was an onslaught of groaning and whining, both off the couch in Albuquerque and the one in Kansas. Strangely, Mary was glad the displeasure was mutual on both ends. She only heard it through one ear, trying to hold the moments and the connections that Sam had thrived upon, that had allowed him to forget even for thirty minutes that his dad was fighting for his life. So busy thinking about this, Mary didn't notice Brandi return to the kitchen – a boy on each hip, which was a feat if ever she saw one.

"Mare?" she prompted to make sure she was listening.

"Yeah."

"I think the kids want to say hi to you before they sign off," she indicated the computer behind her.

"All right…" she bobbed her head up and down. "I'll be in to say goodnight Sam, okay?"

"Yup," he nodded, smile still evident behind his eyes. "Mom?"

"Hmm?" she blinked at him, just trying to stay awake.

"I don't feel so sad tonight," he told her.

"I'm glad Sam," she said honestly.

"I probably will again tomorrow," he warned.

"That's all right pal," she assured him, and she leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I love you."

"Mom?" he said again without reciprocating.

"Hmm…?" a little more tired this time.

"Are you as sad tonight?"

She patted his arm, wanting Brandi to get them back to the bedroom to give her limbs a break.

"Not if you're not, Sam."

With this, her sister departed and Mary allowed her feet to drag her back to the living room, back to the couch, back to more serious conversation that the nieces and nephews had postponed in lieu of talking with Sam in hopes of keeping things light. She loved them for that, but wasn't sure she had the vigor to indulge them in more adult conversation. They were older now. They would understand a lot more.

Settling herself in Sam's old spot between Griffin and Julian, she saw Daniel, Quinn, and Claire waiting on the other side.

"Hello you three…" she rubbed her eye almost involuntarily this time, trying to adjust to the resolution of the screen.

"Hi Mary," they said nearly simultaneously.

"Make this short," Julian came to her rescue, turning on his fatherly voice. "Mary's spent; she needs to get some sleep."

Something in her automatically said she didn't need to be coddled but the words didn't make it out her mouth.

"We just wanted to see if you were all right," Daniel said kindly, oldest of the trio without the twins around.

"You must be so sad about Uncle Marshall," Claire backed up her brother.

"Dan would tell you it _sucks_ but I'll do it for him," Quinn concluded with a stern stare from Griffin.

"Well, I'm…I'm fine…" Mary managed, unexpectedly touched by the kid's concern. "Thank-you for taking the time to talk to Sam," she made sure to say. "All of you…" and she looked to the brothers as she said it.

"Hey, it sure beats doing homework," Quinn picked up the thread, which earned him an approving chuckle from Daniel. "And its great getting to come over to Aunt Kim's in the middle of the week."

"Better circumstances now pending…" Daniel threw his cousin a glare.

"Say goodnight," Julian cut in before the debate could begin all over again. "Dan – Claire – I'll call you sometime tomorrow."

"Yup," Griffin agreed. "Quinn, tell your sisters the same, all right?"

"Sure dad," Daniel replied. "Goodnight Mary."

"Yeah, 'night Mary," the other boy included.

"Love you Mary," Claire put her own spin on it as usual.

Daniel and Quinn exchanged looks at the youngest one's words, obviously noticing the weight they carried and not missing the look on their inherited aunt's face as she swapped her own glances with their father's. Still, there seemed to be something they enjoyed about it just the same. They may have come from fathers that didn't express themselves very well, but Marshall resided deep inside.

"Love you too Mary," they articulated in low voices.

Manly, slightly embarrassed, but they did it and it was worth it.

"Me too…" she said in an equally small voice, determined not to burst into tears.

And she did – all of them. For making her boy smile. She would for the rest of her days.

**A/N: I definitely needed the nieces and nephews to at least get a cameo, whether they return or not. They were part of the original so they can't be left out entirely. Whether Mary thinks so or not, they were part of her decision to keep Sam back in the day – or Marshall's way with them anyway.**

**Thanks again for the sweet comments. I have had much on my mind lately, so it is always nice to have this to come back to.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I am very accustomed to doing author's notes, but I don't have any upfront. So here we go!**

XXX

Getting Brandi to stay over as a means to help Mary get some sleep had the exact opposite effect. So bolstered by his experience with his older cousins, Sam could not keep his mouth shut through most of the night telling Jesse all about them. Although Mary was most definitely pleased to have him in a better mood, it did nothing for her ability to go to sleep. The result was that she was sullen and surly the next morning, not endeared to returning to the hospital.

It had been a week now. A week since she'd stood in this very kitchen drinking coffee and making jokes with her husband. A week since Marshall and his son had put the sword up against the lasso. A week had never felt so much like an eternity.

Regardless, her inability to get any rest meant her overtired mind had worked fruitlessly as she lay in her bed about a plan to take action. She needed to do something to make herself useful. She couldn't stand around anymore. If Marshall was going to die, it wasn't going to be in vain.

That was why she stood in the kitchen at 6:30 in the morning on her cell phone downing her coffee in hopes of staying awake long enough to get Sam to school.

"_Little early to be calling…"_ said a groggy voice on the other end.

"Live with it," Mary replied with an enhanced amount of vigor.

If she wanted this done, she wanted it done right.

"I'm not stupid you know," she added. "It's 8:30 in the morning there. Why isn't your ass out of bed?"

"_What can I do for you, Mare?" _the voice ignored her slight. _"Everything with Sam okay?"_

No, everything with Sam was not okay. Now that he'd been mentioned, she could hear him moving around in his bedroom with Jesse, Brandi attempting to get both of them dressed. She must've thought Mary was asleep and was refusing to ask for help.

"I need you to come out here," she said bluntly with a mammoth gulp of coffee that nearly scalded her throat.

She could hear shifting and rustling on the other end.

"_I'll ask again. Is everything with Sam okay?"_

She sighed, not up for details but knowing if she was going to be demanding – hell, if she wanted leniency – she needed to give them.

"Sam is fine. It's Marshall. He was shot a week ago."

More swishing sounds – the creak of a bed.

"_How the hell did he get shot?"_

"You know most people would offer their apologies after hearing something like that," Mary snarked, knowing she was going to have to hurry if she didn't want Sam or Brandi or Jesse to catch her in the act.

"_I'm sorry Mare,"_ he sounded like he meant it. _"Will he be all right?"_

"I don't know," she answered swiftly. "It's been pretty touch-and-go. He's stable for now but comatose. God only knows when he could come to."

It was very strange how she could be so businesslike all of a sudden. Her head felt oddly clear despite the lack of sleep.

"_So you need me to come out there…?"_ he searched momentarily. _"For what? I'm kind of thinking I would only make things worse on your end, judging by how you usually greet me."_

Mary sighed at the backhanded insult, but it was just like him. It was her own fault for phoning when she knew he wouldn't be awake, even with a two-hour time difference.

"I have something I need to discuss with you and it's not the kind of thing I want to discuss over the phone," she said shortly. "How soon can you get here?"

Being bossy wasn't going to get her anywhere, but if she remembered correctly he usually enjoyed her domineering personality to the point where it was almost obnoxious.

"_What kind of something?"_ he asked warily.

"Did you miss the part where I said I didn't want to do it over the phone?" Mary exploded. "Jesus!"

Her voice carried. Stupid-stupid-stupid.

Brandi appeared, wearing jeans and her pajama top and looking skeptical.

"What are you doing?" she asked, even seeing she was on the phone. "I thought you were still in bed."

"_Is that Brandi?"_

"I have to go…" Mary said hurriedly, hoping beyond reason he would get the message and give her an ETA.

While she waited, Brandi narrowed her eyebrows, putting a hand on the counter while the boys made a racket in the bedroom. At least Sam was in a decent mood.

"So?" she prodded when he didn't respond.

Another silence.

"…_I'll see how flights are looking tonight. At the latest tomorrow morning, okay?"_

"Thank-you," she said at once, resolving to be appreciative.

"_You're lucky I like the dominant types,"_ he quipped.

His nerve, it never ceased to amaze her.

"Goodbye," she said firmly, and put her Blackberry back on the counter quickly which was even dumber of her, since Brandi had already seen everything.

She stared Brandi down for a moment, feeling breathless and winded for some reason. What had she just done? Made a mistake of gargantuan proportions?

"Who was that?" her sister finally asked.

"Work," she lied easily, gulping down another dreg of coffee.

"You're _not_ going to work," Brandi stuck a hand on her hip, her statement half-question, half-comment.

"No, I'm not going to work…" Mary put up her hands, annoyed with the cloak-and-dagger, reaching to pour herself another cup of coffee. "But the world does not stop Squish. There are things I have to deal with; Stan can't pick up the slack forever…"

If she didn't quit jabbering she was going to give herself away. She didn't entirely trust herself under so little sleep.

"Well you mentioned you were going to go back at the end of the week…"

"So what if I did?"

"I just don't think you should until you've slept…"

"For Christ's sake…!"

Footsteps – pounding and loud – and then Sam, distraught in his eyes that did not match what had been going on the bedroom.

"Mom!" he exclaimed. "You're not going to work, are you?"

"NO!" she burst loudly, nearly sending her coffee flying.

The way her voice rung in the room shut them both up and the release of stress made her tremble. She set her mug on the counter to steady her hands, not having realized in her delirium that it was Sam whom she had just unloaded on. She put a hand over her eyes and tried to regroup, tried to prepare herself for the hurt on Sam's face as well as Brandi's. Was her stealth routine really worth this? She could practically hear her heart beating amongst the silence.

When she removed her hand, she saw that Sam was close to tears and yearning approval.

"I'm sorry mom…"

"No, Sam…" she shook her head and left her cup at the counter, motoring around to ease his mind.

She knelt in front of him, wanting to see into his eyes.

"Don't be sorry; I shouldn't have yelled at you," she promised. "I'm just…tired, is all," was her lame excuse. "I haven't been sleeping well."

This caused Brandi to stir, but she didn't speak. Sam nodded at her explanation and managed not to cry, which was more than Mary could say for herself these days. She wasn't used to spending so much time apologizing for being such a weak-willed wuss. The spineless feeling upset her even further.

Unfortunately, her humanity with her son seemed to make him think it was okay to proceed with what was on his mind – something she hadn't anticipated.

"Mom?" he prodded in a small voice. "When you _do_ go back to work…?"

"Yeah?" a tired sigh.

"Could I go with you?"

She didn't expect the question to set her off so severely but underneath, in a place she couldn't discern at the moment, she understood why. It was one more thing she didn't know how to handle. Her job was too important to her to give up, even with Marshall in his state, but how could they afford to continue if it made Sam a basket case? For that matter, how could she go on with it if Marshall didn't get better or fared worse?

"No, you can't go with me," she told him sternly, in her disciplinary voice. "You know better than that."

Don't rock the boat, her mind told her. Be kind – be gentle. But she couldn't listen.

"But if something happens to you…" he started to say.

"Sam, _no_," she snapped, harsh and callous. "We have talked about this!" her voice rose as she stood up, through with being understanding. "I cannot tell you what dad and I are doing. It's a secret – it has to stay a secret or people get hurt!"

"But I _kept_ your secrets and dad _still_ got hurt!" he whined.

She hated when he made a valid point. Especially right now.

"Well, that's a risk we cops with a twist have to take…" she said heartlessly, but that was enough for Sam.

"You aren't 'cops with a twist!'" he sneered and Mary was startled to see how much he resembled her again, just as he had on his birthday. "You think I'm stupid!"

"Bud, no I don't…" she sounded annoyed now, fed-up with accusations.

"I know what you are!" he declared boldly. "You're Federal United States Marshals!" he rattled off in one breath. "And if you really did just stand around at the building where they try all those cases dad wouldn't have gotten shot and if you were really his partner-!"

"Sam, stop it!" she hollered, appalled by his wealth of knowledge. She certainly hadn't confided their titles in him. Marshall must've done it and he needed to cut it out before Jesse got involved.

"You're going to get shot too!" he screamed, his eyes actually popping. "You're going to get shot too and you're going to leave me all alone and Brandi will have to take care of me!"

Truly unable to envelop her thoughts around this idea, Mary met his match in the vocal department.

"Sam, I'm your mother; you have to trust me!" she pleaded. "I know what I'm doing!"

"You should've kept dad safe!" was his rebuttal. "If you had kept him safe nobody would've shot him!"

It stung. It made her feel so sick she was certain she was going to throw up. It felt like her son had socked her square in the gut, and it definitely made her incapable of speaking, which was probably what he'd wanted. To shock her into silence, to find someone to blame for this pain he was in.

All three of them just stood there staring at each other until Jesse wandered out, late to the game and only half-dressed with a pair of sweatpants and no shirt.

"What's wrong?" he bleated in his high-pitched voice. "Mommy, what's going on?" he appealed to Brandi.

"Nothing honey…" Brandi said automatically, her eyes never leaving Mary's but her sister let the ache escape in hostility.

"Stay out of it!" she jumped an octave, not done arguing.

The admonition was meant for Brandi but in a small, remote corner of her brain she was aware her nephew might think it was for him.

"Mare, end this now…"

"I said to stay out of it!"

She was feeling outside herself now, her body not quite her own, throbbing with the beating Sam had just given her. He'd said it. He blamed her for Marshall's condition. There was no changing it.

"You're going to say something you regret…" Brandi pleaded as she stepped toward her.

"STOP!" her throat burned raw with the shout just as a fifth individual entered into their midst through the front door.

"What the hell is going on?" Stan demanded, looking blank and also fierce as he stood in the doorway with a bag of something from the bakery, forgetting to watch his language. "I could hear you guys when I pulled up…"

Both sisters ignored him; Jesse had begun to cry and Sam was still breathing hard after his allegation.

"He's little Mary; he doesn't get it…" Brandi said under her breath, stepping close to her and trying to touch her arm.

The mistake reminded her of Jesse trying to open Sam's birthday presents. It was the alert that drove her to lash out and she shoved her sister's touch away – not hitting her, not laying a hand, nowhere near abuse or anything that could be mistaken for it. But Stan was next to her so fast, clearly his instincts as a Marshal kicking in. He snatched her arm and dragged her to the door.

"Outside – let's go," he demanded. "Time to cool off…"

She was too heated up to really care, to fight him, and it wasn't until they were safely on the front porch with the door shut that she intended to speak. Unfortunately, her boss beat her to it.

"I come over here to bring you breakfast and this is what I find?"

The tough-boss voice was so accustomed it almost made her hurt for days at the WITSEC office.

"I'm under a tad bit of stress Stan; in case you hadn't noticed!" she reminded him.

"Enough Mary," he said sternly, stepping into her face. She was always startled to see how menacing he could be at such a non-threatening height. "I am not about to let you sit here and burn all your bridges and shut everyone away and become the hard-ass bitch I know you are trying to be. You have more than yourself at stake."

"Really?" she threw out a hand in an indistinct gesture. "I hadn't noticed!"

"What is the problem?" Stan pressed. "I know what the _obvious_ problem is," he corrected himself before she could open her mouth. "I mean on this particular day at this particular moment."

Huffing loudly, she sighed and rolled her eyes, still fired up from her confrontation with Sam.

"I was _trying_ to make a call and Brandi butts her big nose in…" she shook her head, offended. "And I lied and told her it was about work and then Sam comes in and wants to make sure I'm not _going_ to work…"

"Why would you say it was work?" Stan fed her a bewildered look. "You know I've been handling things with the discretion of ABQ PD…"

"I _know_ that…" she said through gritted teeth, not sure how much more her patience could take. "I just said that I lied."

"Why would you lie?"

Only Stan could get away with interrogating her when she was like this. Could she say it? Could she say the word – say the name? She could hear the birds squawking unattractively in the trees; saw the sun shining through the leaves of red and brown. It was cooler today, but she hadn't noticed until now.

It was the drain of everything that had just happened – of everything going on – that caused the ticket to come out all on its own.

"Because I was talking to Mark."

Stan furrowed his brow as Mary made herself sit on the stoop. Her knees were weak and wobbly and the breeze was giving her a chill.

"Yes, _that_ Mark," she cut in before Stan could ask.

He joined her on the front steps, adjusting his pale yellow tie as he sat down.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"I'd really like to leave that one for another day," she very nearly prayed he would accept this response, and Mary was not a religious person.

"Fine," he nodded. "Get back to Sam. He wanted to make sure you weren't going to work?"

Mary sighed; amazed Stan had gleaned this from the way she had rattled things off. Her head hurt; a constant migraine she couldn't drive way no matter how she shut her eyes and tried to succumb to sleep. Finally, she looked into the warm, fatherly gaze of her boss. She had to tell someone. She didn't have the faintest idea what to do.

"Stan, he's terrified," she whispered, the wind carrying her words. "He's having nightmares about me or Marshall or the both of us being shot and dying or leaving him. I've barely been able to get out of the house."

It was Stan's turn to sigh as he received the news, playing with his tie again to avoid looking at Mary.

"Stan…?" she murmured without giving him time to think.

He glanced up expectantly. With one confession came another, just something else she couldn't keep in.

"He thinks it's my fault that this happened to Marshall."

She expected another exhale, but he surprised her. She was suddenly aware she was still in her pajamas.

"Did he say that?"

Mary nodded with the familiarity of cords twisting in her windpipe, the inability to breathe or to think plainly. Like a reflex, tears spilled out of her eyes, not out-of-control but sad. Pure sadness.

"He said if I'd protected Marshall this wouldn't have happened."

"Mary, he's a _child_," Stan said gently, putting his arm around her and squeezing her shoulder on the opposite side. "He's seven years old. He doesn't blame you anymore than he blames himself or this job or his confusion or anything else he doesn't understand. He's looking for someone to accuse and he's chosen you because he knows that you'll forgive him."

Could that really be true?

"He knows you'll love him no matter what he says."

Leave it to Stan to be reasonable. Rationality followed her everywhere. How had none of it seeped into her when she couldn't seem to get rid of it?

"I don't know what to do…" she was unable to keep the blubbering out of her speech. "I can't do my job, I can't take care of my son, I can't do anything…"

Stan yanked her in closer, kissing her temple – tender and sweet.

"Here's what you do first," he instructed as though he were handing her files on the roof of the Sunshine Building. "You sleep and you eat."

Mary started to object to this when he went right on talking.

"A box of cereal is _not_ a meal and an hour for every eight is _not_ sleeping," he claimed firmly. "I know you think I'm spewing crap kiddo, but you _will_ feel better if you rest up and get some food in you. It won't make this hurt any less, but you'll at least be able to use your brain the way you were meant to."

Mary didn't like it when other people were right. Inadequacy never sat well with her.

"Take the rest as it comes," Stan suggested, as though it were so simple. "Work can wait. I can keep you in the loop without putting you in the line of fire, which should be of some comfort to your boy in there."

He jerked his head at the door behind them just as it opened – slowly and cautiously – and both the inspector and the chief turned around to find Sam poking his head out. Mary could tell from the rings around his eyes that he had shed tears, but certainly fewer than she had. Sharp as he was, he noticed right away.

"Mom, I didn't mean to make you cry."

Knowing how unfamiliar he was at combining his mother and emotion, she patted the space beside her and he obeyed, squeezing himself in between her and Stan.

"You need a minute?" Stan asked, with his eyes more than his voice.

"No," she said with confidence. "I want you to stay."

Swallowing, she didn't wait for her boss to agree.

"You didn't make me cry bud…"

"Yes, I did," he said seriously. "Brandi said I hurt your feelings when I said if you'd kept dad safe he wouldn't be shot."

Leave it to Brandi to pile on the guilt.

"Well…" there was no point in lying now that he'd been faced with his own pitiless remarks. "That did hurt my feelings a little bit, but I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did. I was tired and I was frustrated, but I shouldn't have shouted."

Donning herself the fault for the second time in one morning – a record.

"Sam…" she sighed, hardly daring to believe they were having this discussion so early in the day. "The truth is, my work means a lot to me. I've done it for a long time and if I _hadn't_ done it, I never would've met your dad. It's really hard for me to think about giving it up."

Sam nodded, and Stan decided this was an appropriate moment to chime in.

"It's an important job, Sam," he interposed. "I know it's hard to see it that way when nobody can talk about it, but it is."

"Bud…it isn't worth dad getting shot," she needed that to get out there. "It's not. But you have to know, it's rare that it happens. Dad and I know what we're doing but mistakes still come up…"

She really wasn't getting this across the way that she wanted at all. Her mind was mush.

"I know that it scares you," she said in a whisper and his eyes seemed to grow larger then as he latched on to the claim. "And I'm so sorry I got so angry when you're scared. I don't want you to be scared, bud."

Sam nodded at this, turning from his mother to Stan and back again, not quite sure what to say.

"Here's what we're gonna do…" Mary decided on the spot, wanting to close in on this, to put it away for the moment. "Until dad gets better, I won't go anywhere someone can hurt me, okay?"

She could almost see him grow lighter.

"If I say I'm going to work, I'm going to an office – like Peter does. You've been to his room at the car place, right?" she lowered her gaze in hopes that he would recall, and he nodded.

"We'll figure something else out later," she finished. "Can you live with that?"

Part of her didn't even care if he could live with it or not, but it was with a higher power that he nodded and stood up. It was obvious some weight had lifted from his shoulders and frankly, the same could be said for Mary. At least for now, some sort of crisis had been averted. She hadn't had any plans to go gunning down in the field with Marshall in his state anyway.

"Mom?" he inquired, even as he stood and she sat.

"Yeah?"

"You would've protected dad if you could've…right?"

She felt Stan's hand kneading the cramped muscles in her back.

"Yes, Sam. I promise. That's the biggest, most important part of my job."

Sam nodded, getting the confirmation he needed.

"I'm sorry, mom."

Without Marshall, he never would've learned to be so kind. She reached out and brushed the uncombed, sleep-tousled hair from his eyes.

"I am too, Sam."

**A/N: Yes jekkah – Mary is indeed on the verge, as hopefully demonstrated by this chapter! Poor girl is all over the place LOL! **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: This is me showering you with gratitude for the reviews. And me also reminding you that I am no doctor! Forgive me!**

XXX

"_I remembered it's none of your Goddamn business…"_

"_Maybe you'd get respect if you ever actually did something to earn it…"_

These were the words that were continually haunting Mary's dreams, when she was lucky enough to slip into an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep. They always jolted her awake, gasping and regretful, usually leaving her to feel as though she had not caught any z's at all. This happened for about the sixth time in Marshall's hospital room around five o'clock in the evening. Then she realized it wasn't the old insults that had drawn her out, it was the buzzing of her Blackberry.

Straightening and blinking, trying to stretch the kinks in her back, she grabbed it off the night table without thinking to glance at who it was.

"Hello?" she muttered groggily.

Strictly speaking, she wasn't sure if she was supposed to use her phone in the room but there was no one around at the moment.

"Hey, it's me."

Me?

"Um…"

There was something seriously wrong with her head.

"Mark."

Oh. _That_ 'me.'

"Yeah…" she shut her eyes again, trying to focus on Marshall's face, silent as it remained. "What's going on? You get a flight?"

"I landed a half hour ago."

Given the week she'd had, Mary expected to be much more accustomed to unprecedented activities, but this one almost took the cake. Mark had actually done what she'd asked him to, and without hesitation? He was already here, in Albuquerque? She hadn't given any thought to what she was going to say to him. She hadn't had enough time.

That seemed to be a common problem lately.

"Already?" she finally choked out, her throat feeling dry from lack of water.

"It sounded important," she could almost picture Mark shrugging.

"Well…yeah…" she attempted to sound self-assured. "It is."

Before Mark could respond, another thought floated into her already crammed brain, but it was definitely an essential one to voice.

"You can't stay on my couch," she informed him. "Marshall's family doesn't know your coming – _my_ family doesn't know you're coming – and his brothers and his mother have been crashing periodically anyway…"

"Jesus, calm down," Mark requested; a hint of a laugh in his voice. "It's fine. I got a hotel room; you don't have to worry about me invading your home with my suave and charming good looks."

Barf.

"Cut the shit, Mark," was her reply. "Can you come over tonight? Say, around eleven?"

"A midnight rendezvous," he mused.

"You are _such_ an ass."

"Yes, I will be there," he answered speedily. "But…if you don't mind my asking…why the secret?"

"Best left for tonight," she responded vaguely. "See you then."

Before he could quip with something else sophomoric and juvenile, she hung up the phone, putting it back in its designated spot on the bedside table. Rubbing her temples with her thumb and index finger, looking into Marshall's pale and drawn features, she knew that if there was any time to start talking, it was now. Whether Marshall could hear or not, getting some of the pressure out of her chest could only be beneficial.

Right?

"What I'm doing here…" she murmured in a hushed voice. "I'm not sure it's smart."

She was sitting so properly on the edge of her chair, all tense from her conversation with Mark. There was nothing affectionate about her stance.

"Smart's kind of _your_ thing, Marshall."

The ventilator continued its rhythmic _chunk-chunk_ symphony. It never quit.

"I wish you were here to tell me if this is right or not – whether it's all going to blow up in my face," Mary went on. "I wouldn't count it out. It's been a hell of a week for all of us."

She would've given _her_ life for him to open his eyes at that moment, to say something back to her, to prove that Marshall Mann still resided somewhere deep beneath that ruined abdomen. But he didn't. He stayed motionless and remote as he had for the last seven days.

"I'm lost without you Marshall…" she whispered, letting her gaze fall to her lap as she battled against the all-too-familiar tears. "Sam is miserable – I got mad at him this morning – and for _nothing_. For worrying that he's going to lose his parents!" although her inflection changed, her voice stayed low in octave.

She extended her palm and touched the small part of his cheek not obscured by wires, lines, and tubes.

"If you don't come out of this, what am I going to do?" she murmured, fingering the stubble across his chin. "I don't know if I trust myself to manage him, Marshall. I _want_ to…I _want_ to but I'm just not…"

She longed to see those blue eyes probe her own with life and happiness, to tell her it was all right, that she could handle their son just fine.

"I'm not you," she finished in a quiet voice.

Unable to help herself, she leaned over to kiss that cheek she was caressing, allowing the tears to slide onto his chest as she rested her gaze on his face. This gesture didn't last, however, when she heard the door open and made herself back away. Although, there was no reason this signal was strange. Marshall was her husband.

Turning in her seat, trying _not_ to imagine just how ghost-like she might look, she saw the valued Doctor Seager enter with Carolyn. How long had she been in here? She and Carolyn tended to swap bedside vigils, although sometimes they resided together.

"Hi honey," her mother-in-law said casually, and then she caught sight of the residue lining her face where she'd cried. Softening her gaze, "You all right?"

Mary nodded, not offended by the question. Although the circumstances were dire, sad as it was they had become routine. Neither one of them were shedding tears at the drop of a hat anymore. Or at least, Mary wasn't where anyone could see her.

"I just wanted to talk to you both about our next option for Marshall," Doctor Seager announced without preamble.

"There's…another option?" Mary stood, leaving her seat so the man could get to the bed in case he needed to. "I wasn't aware you could do anything else until he came out of the coma or sedation or…" her voice trailed away.

"Well…" he shrugged, stepping to the side of the bed but without examination. "Marshall _is_ comatose, but that's due in large part to the fact that he's under heavy sedation."

Mary was about to ask why the dual-knock-out, when he spoke over her.

"Basically, the sedation prevents him – should he wake – from returning to consciousness when he can't support himself."

"What's that mean?" Carolyn asked. Mary wasn't sure she understood either.

"Let's say, hypothetically, Marshall improves enough to come out of the coma…" Doctor Seager presented the scenario. "But his system is too weak to handle it. If he can't breathe properly, he might go into cardiac arrest, you get the idea?"

Both women nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"The sedation prevents that or anything so severe from occurring. We can keep an eye on his vitals that way, see whether he's making progress or not."

"So, what can you do?" Carolyn prompted; Mary had joined her on her side now, within inches of touching her. "Other than watch?"

"We may try to bring him out of sedation to see if it stimulates his brain activity at all, which may aide his ability to return to consciousness," he explained.

This sounded logical to Mary. Did she dare to hope?

"Even if he doesn't wake up right away," the doctor warned. "It should, in theory, speed up his ability to be weaned off the ventilator and start breathing on his own."

"Well that…that's great…!" Carolyn suddenly burst out before Mary could even start speaking; it made her jump and she turned to look at her mother-in-law, surprised by the optimism.

"I should caution you – it may not take," Doctor Seager held up a hand of warning. "It's still a little premature to be trying this. Marshall's vitals have been good and his numbers have climbed marginally in short periods, but even if we lift sedation, even slightly…"

He paused to let all this take effect. Mary found it rather dramatic of him and wished he would just continue.

"He may not handle it well; he may still not have sufficient brain function to fully wake from the coma…" he went on. "In which case, he would need to be sedated all over again to keep him stable."

Now it sounded like a crapshoot to Mary.

"However…" the doctor adopted a more buyout tone as he drove on. "I am of the opinion that nutrition plays a vital role in one's ability to return to consciousness. The IV is keeping Marshall hydrated, but not necessarily properly nourished. Even if we give this a try and it doesn't work, he may have a better chance once he's been given more 'food' for want of a better term."

Time – just more time.

"Can you do this soon?" Carolyn asked while Mary tried to work out all the details, tried to remember them as best she could.

"If we start to slowly pull him out of sedation tomorrow morning, we should see signs pretty quickly whether this is something he's able to cope with," Doctor Seager revealed. "I want to give him the night to gain some more stamina, though."

"Sure…sure…" Carolyn was clearly enthralled by the prospects, despite the blank look on Mary's face. "Thank-you," it was practically a dismissal and the doctor took the hint, although Mary could see written all over his features he was leery of this level of positivity, given everything he'd just said.

Once he was gone, Carolyn turned to Mary, tears brimming in her blue eyes. Marshall's eyes.

"I know it may not work honey, but it's a chance…" she whispered theatrically, grabbing her daughter-in-law's arms in an effort to bring her over to her side. "He has a chance…"

"Well I…" Mary was still feeling a little clouded at all the information, but didn't want to disappoint Carolyn. "I mean I guess if they think he's strong enough…"

"They must!" she decided. "They must think so if they're willing to try!"

Mary really didn't want to dash all the hopes there were to be had, was tired of trying to be realistic and perpetually negative, so she managed a shaky nod for Carolyn and a half-smile to show she was on board. Carolyn was clearly moved by the effort and squeezed her hard in a sideways embrace.

"You sure you're okay?" she asked. "You seemed upset when we came in."

She would wreck everything if she told the truth, so she decided on something else instead.

"I just…I really miss him…" she swallowed past the lump in her throat. "It's hard when I'm so tired…"

Carolyn nodded her understanding.

"Don't give up faith, Mary," she advised. "He could be back with us before you know it."

**A/N: I know this one was a little bit shorter! (Actually closer to the size of most of the chapters in the first two stories, but even so!) Hope you're hanging with me even though I am sure this little scenario I have presented may not be anywhere near possible or plausible in real life. I beg you not to think too poorly of me for my less-than-wealth of knowledge in the medical field.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Virtual hugs for reviews! Don't own IPS!**

XXX

It was far easier to get rid of guests that evening than Mary originally thought. Everyone was so concerned with her well-being that when she said she wanted the night to herself to catch up on sleep, nobody asked twice. She decided to send Sam to Jinx's rather than Brandi's to give him a break from his aunt. It was a longer drive, but she thought they might've seen enough of each other for the week. His grandmother was sugary and doting but he rarely got her to himself these days with Jesse around, so he seemed to warm to the idea and went without arguing.

Mary did drift off for a little awhile, around ten o'clock waiting up for Mark to arrive. His rapping knock shook her hard and she almost fell off the couch and onto the floor. Squinting at the clock on the TV she saw that it was only five after. He'd even made it on time, right in the slot of being fashionably late.

Standing up and making sure no skin was showing, she went to let him in.

"Hi…" she said drowsily, stepping aside to allow him through. He was wearing jeans and a suit jacket, like he planned to take her to dinner.

"Hi," he repeated, stepping inside with his hands in his pockets.

There was an awkward silence as she shut the door. His face was bathed in the half-light, room swept in semi-darkness to keep her head from pounding in hopes that she would get some sleep. They both just stood, Mark shifting back and forth and clearly trying to think of something to say.

"Sam here?" he finally settled on.

"No," she whispered, not sure why since her son was not, in fact, present. "He's staying at my mother's."

Mark nodded, conversation ending there. He really was tolerant to put up with her like this, to come all this way and have to pry the information out of her – it was like pulling teeth. She almost felt guilty about not expecting more of him, of not thinking she'd have to 'prepare remarks' for another day or so.

"How are you?" he asked eventually.

She averted her glance to the floor, trying to at least _look_ ashamed, to hide her face, when Mark placed his hand on her shoulder so she couldn't get away with it.

She threw him a pleading, almost begging glance, trying to tell him without words just how horrible she was.

Evidently he was smarter than she gave him credit for because he sighed and hugged her, pecking her cheek like he always did when they came into contact. It wasn't like hugging Marshall – just like her embrace with Griffin had not been – but there was a sweetness to it, something light that took her back to days when things were much less complicated.

"I'm an idiot," were his comforting words and she actually laughed as he let go of her.

"You are not," she said with a sad smile. "At least not right _now_. It's not your fault I'm mute."

"I don't imagine you want me hanging around long," he figured as she wandered back to the living room and indicated the couch where they both sat. "With everything that's going on. So what did you want to talk about?"

Mary wasn't used to her ex getting straight to the point. He spent a lot of time beating around the bush, using his wiles and his charisma – what little he had left – to play games and flirt first. But perhaps even Mark knew that a shooting was serious business. Nobody was that dumb.

"Mark…" she started out, clasping her fingers together and leaning on her knees to face him. Her hair fell in a curtain when she tilted her head. "This is going to sound completely bat-shit crazy, but I need you to hear me out."

He narrowed his eyes slightly but he agreed, "Okay."

She sighed. She tried to stay cool. She tried not to lose her head. It was now or it was never.

"When Sam was born you and I agreed that the best thing for him was to be raised by two parents in the same household and that his father was going to be somebody he saw every day, not someone his mother can barely get along with that lives halfway across the country."

She said it all in one breath and it wasn't as poetic as she was hoping, but it got the general gist across.

"Something like that," he nodded. "So long as you never kept him from me, I was fine with that…"

"And I haven't," Mary butt in, unable to hide a little bit of accusation. "Ever."

"So…what's different now?" Mark asked.

Everything. Everything was different now. And if the world was going to change without consulting Mary, she was going to throw that change back in its face.

"What's different is that Marshall could die and I'm not going to let him die knowing I didn't care enough to give him the son he has spent seven years raising…"

"Wait a minute…"

Mark had obviously caught on, but now that she'd begun Mary would have to be bombed not to keep going.

"I want Marshall to adopt Sam," she stared straight at him. "I want him to have the legal right to his child. He's his dad; it's time to make it official."

The words seemed to come back to her even after she spoke them. She knew she shouldn't have been so brazen, so forthright and frankly, so demanding, but it had seemed okay in the moment. Diving in headfirst was the only way she ever jumped off the cliff.

Mark, apparently, did not have the same feeling.

"Are you _insane_?" he leapt from the couch, eyes blazing. "You called me all the way out here to tell me that you want me to sign over my son?"

"He's _Marshall's_ son!" she was standing now too, inches from his nose.

"No, he's _my_ son if I want him," Mark reminded her. "I am an understanding guy, Mary. I stepped aside when you said this is what you wanted because I know the hang-up's you have about broken homes and absentee fathers. That was my life for the thirty-six hours we were married!"

"Yeah, and what about _my_ life?" she spat. "I was there too, remember? Mark, you are making much too a big deal out of this!"

He wasn't – Mary knew it – but she had to pretend.

"Nothing's going to change," she said in what she hoped was an understanding tone. "I'm not _taking_ him from you Mark. You can still see him; I don't care," she shook her head. "It just makes it official – it's a formality…"

She hadn't thought she'd sell him on that, and she was right.

"Don't treat me like I'm an idiot, Mary," he really looked angry now.

"Never mind that you _said_ you were not five minutes ago…" she muttered in an undertone.

"I sign Sam over…" he started to say.

"He's not a commodity!"

"Whatever," he waved an indistinct hand. "I give Marshall parental rights and you can shut me out the door anytime you want. You have no obligation to ever let me into Sam's life again."

It hurt Mary a little that he thought she would do that. Her intention was never to keep Sam away from Mark; she just hadn't wanted him to be his father. She knew it was as much her doing as Mark's that he was, biologically, but she couldn't help the need to call the shots, the need to paint the picture she'd always envisioned for herself as a child.

"Mark…" she shut her eyes and gritted her teeth; if she weren't so tired she could make a much better argument. "I never would've asked you to do this…"

"You never would've asked me to do this if Marshall hadn't been shot!" he decided with a bitter laugh. "It isn't my fault you never managed to live till you're dying Mary!"

"Shut up!" she hollered, the remark smarting because she knew he was right.

"How do you plan on coordinating this anyway?" he wanted to know, tossing his hands up and staring at her in disbelief. "You said Marshall's in a coma. You think he can sign parental rights when he isn't awake?"

"I said shut up!"

She was going to snap. She was going to hit him or worse – she was going to cry and she did not intend to stake her claim by bawling like a girl who got pulled over for speeding.

Both of them were breathing hard, shooting daggers at one another. Mary hadn't realized how badly she'd wanted this until she had to fight so fiercely.

"Mark, I came to you because I thought you would understand," she told him honestly. "My husband has been comatose for a week and what you are calling _your_ son has been an absolute train wreck because of it…"

"Mary, you like to blame me for a lot of things," was his unexpected response as he stepped toward her.

"What the hell does that mean?" she snapped.

"It means you like to pretend I'm this deadbeat-dad that doesn't give a damn about his child, but why do you think I stay away?" he asked, and he looked like he really wanted an answer.

And yet Mary knew she didn't have to speak for him to defend himself.

"I stay away because that's what _you_ want. You fill me full of shit about how Sam's going to be confused if I'm around too much, about how you don't want him to have to deal with two daddy's and then you go and fault me for keeping my distance."

He looked really satisfied with himself now. It made her sick and she thought she might actually smack him.

And yet the phrases and the accusations, they actually meant something. They meant she was being selfish, that what she tried to gain for one denied another. But she didn't love Mark and she hadn't ever wanted to deal with step-families and plane rides and two Christmases. He'd done what he'd done all these years because it was important to her. And why?

She regained her seat on the couch, sighing deeply and wondering what had ever prompted this idea to form. Did pieces of paper really mean anything?

Mark seemed to think he'd gone a little overboard in light of the happenings and sat beside her.

"Is Marshall really going to die?" he asked quietly.

"Would it make a difference to you?" she grumbled and he smirked at the old toughness sneaking its way out.

Mark seemed to think this question was rhetorical because he didn't answer.

"I don't know," Mary admitted. "I actually don't think so – not at this point. But they really don't know whether he's going to wake up or not."

"What happened to him?" Mark pressed.

"You know I can't tell you."

"I just meant…" he began.

"He got hit in the abdomen; the slug went through and through out his back. It missed his spine but they had to take one of his kidneys and repair his bladder," she explained swiftly. "I haven't seen his wounds undressed but if they're anything like mine were they're going to be pretty gruesome."

Mark raised his eyebrows, "Yours?"

"Yeah…" she shrugged as though it were no big deal. "I got hit in roughly the same place about nine years ago."

Mark whistled, long and low. Mary wondered if this was supposed to be flattering in some way, but she couldn't quite work out how.

"I shouldn't have said you fill me full of shit," he stated out of the blue and the comment was almost amusing to Mary.

"Even if it's true?" she asked.

"Even then," he laughed lightly. "You've always let me see Sam if I really wanted to. I _am_ grateful."

She didn't deserve it, but it did sound nice. What came next was something she never saw barreling down the pike, never having expected Mark to switch gears so abruptly, to make a choice on the spot.

"Mary…if you let Marshall adopt Sam; I keep all my visitation and all that…"

"Yes…" she said immediately, sitting up, hardly daring to believe something might have gone her way for once.

"You can have it, but I need Sam to know something."

Mary would've accepted whatever conditions he placed – anything under the sun, to the moon and back – if not for the words he uttered next.

"I need him to know who I really am."

He was just as blunt as Mary had been, but she had no words to his declaration. She just sat there like a moron, gaping soundlessly, not a clue where to go from here.

"You tell him the truth…" he nodded sedately. "And I sign anything you want."

**A/N: Okay, there is a theory behind Mark's condition (that does not involve spoilers) so I will share with you so you know why I had him place this stipulation if Mary wants Marshall to adopt Sam.**

**I actually like Mark on the show. Between the two characters currently keeping Mary and Marshall from being together in terms of relationships, I certainly prefer Mark to Abigail. I think he's cute and silly and Mary likes him a lot more than she lets on, even if she doesn't love him. Therefore, I really did not want to make him a jerk about Mary's request because I just don't think he would be. I think he **_**does **_**love Mary still and this is a big reason why he's given her so much where Sam is concerned; he wants her to be happy. So for that reason, I didn't want him to just say no and storm off or even fight her for custody or anything like that.**

**But a person can only be so understanding LOL! Sam is Mark's kid and I don't see him just stepping aside either. The idea behind him wanting Sam told that he is his biological father is that this way, Sam will know the truth. Even if he still thinks of Marshall as his dad (depending upon how the story progresses!) he will still know what really happened, which I think Mark believes will prevent Mary from cutting him out completely. IF Sam is told and IF he learns the truth, he's going to remember that.**

**Anyway, I probably put way too much thought into this! But I had a hard time finding a happy medium in this scenario that also seemed plausible, and this is what I came up with. So now you'll just have to see what Mary decides!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Well, apparently my opinion is rare when it comes to Mark LOL! No matter – differing points of view make the world go 'round! Just as an FYI, I didn't necessarily mean for it to look like Mark wanted Sam told right here, right now. Just if Mary wants it done (now, later, whatever) this is what he wants as well.**

**Anyway! I turned the anonymous reviews on (thanks to my good friend Jayne_Leigh) which may or may not be to my advantage due to the controversy of the last chapter LOL! As well as the one coming up…don't hate me for it; slay away if you need to! ;)**

XXX

Mark's deal, such as it was, had to be blocked out of Mary's mind the next morning. She was so shaky and nervous returning to the hospital, knowing the attempt was going to be made to bring Marshall out of a coma, out of sedation, into the world of living.

She cautioned herself at every turn, telling herself constantly that it would not work, that they were going to be right back where they'd started. No expectations and no disappointments.

But something deep inside her dared to dream. Marshall's blue eyes floated in her subconscious – a drowsy hello, the jerking of his fingers. She saw all this and more in her mind's eye, and each time her heart picked up speed. What if it _did_ go right? What if fate was on her side? Just this once.

Still, she did not permit herself to be in the room when the transition began. She felt like a lunatic, pumped up on adrenaline that came from lack of sleep. Therefore, she stationed herself in the dreaded waiting room with Griffin and Julian, even Jinx who had joined their party after taking Sam to school. Carolyn was the one who got admission to Marshall's quarters to sit with him as he was forced back to life.

If they were lucky.

Trying not to think about what was going on behind closed doors but unable to let her mind take her elsewhere, she engaged in pointless conversation with her mother to pass the time.

"Mom?" she prompted Jinx who was sitting beside her sipping coffee. "You remember when Sam was born?"

"I think I vaguely recall sweetie," she chuckled and patted her knee.

For some reason, Mary was willing to take it.

"Well…remember how we told you after that his heart rate dropped while I was pushing?"

"Yes," Jinx rumpled her hair now. "Something tells me you would not have appreciated my presence in _that_ moment."

Mary smiled softly, just trying to picture it and she couldn't.

"Marshall flew off the handle," she revealed. "Seriously, it was like Jeckyl and Hyde. I never saw him switch moods so fast."

The thought almost made her chuckle as Jinx's expression turned a little more serious, fingers still twirling in her daughter's hair.

"I'm sure he was worried about you, darling."

"Yeah…" Mary breathed as though this point were only just being brought to her attention, an epiphany of sorts. "Yeah, I bet he was…"

She'd been having memories like these since she'd got out of bed that morning. Marshall at her side while she labored with Sam – Marshall's head in her lap as he succumbed to exhaustion on her first trip to Kansas. When she'd kissed his cheek in the barn after he'd been hit in the shoulder and the way the engagement ring from Raph sparkled on his finger. Recollections of a wide variety – jumbled puzzle pieces that she could almost slide into their proper spots if she screwed up her mind hard enough.

If Carolyn would just come out and say the words.

"You know sweetheart…" Jinx was talking to her, in a voice of discretion so the Mann brothers wouldn't overhear. "When Brandi was in that heap of trouble and those low-life's took you…"

Mary turned sharply, ready to tell her to shut up but the admonition didn't come. She wanted to hear it.

"You should've seen Marshall," she patted her daughter's arm. "If I hadn't been drunk on my ass I _really_ would've gotten a look at him," a brave attempt at a joke. "He was going to find you or die trying."

Or die trying. Or die trying.

She could hear his voice. It was so close, like a breath in her ear. If he spoke up she could pick out the words.

"Is that Carolyn…?" Jinx's twitter jarred her from her thoughts, her feelings.

Mary glanced up to see her mother-in-law reentering through the double doors, followed by Doctor Seager. This far away, she couldn't glean anything from her face, couldn't tell if it was good or bad. She and Jinx stood almost in unison, followed by Griffin and Julian across from them.

The woman and the good doctor approached them and Mary felt herself stop breathing, even though she could also discern and rise and fall of her own chest. The sights and sounds vanished and her only focus was Carolyn, just this one person, this one woman who could make everything all right again…

If she would just say the words.

Carolyn's gaze found hers and for a fraction of a second – one, blissful, wonderful second – Mary thought she saw something worth waiting for. But she also felt her feet fall from underneath her as she caught the second look. And then everything slowed down. Everything rushed in – sights, sounds, and all.

No. No. Don't say it. Don't speak. Don't say the words.

A touch first. A hand on her shoulder.

And then a face. A face of unrivaled disappointment.

"He…" Carolyn paused and then, "He…just couldn't, honey. He's not ready."

And she could no longer draw air. She had no oxygen, no life, and no purpose – no nothing. She heard nothing of what went on around her because while the others were asking their questions…

"What happened to him?"

"He's okay now, right?"

"We'll try again in a few days…"

"He's stable…"

She'd had it. She'd run the race and gone the extra mile; she'd been the anchor and the first one to the finish line and it hadn't made a bit of difference.

She was an absolute fool. Why had she _ever_ believed that this would work?

The film rolls of memories crashed to the ground, shattered into pieces she was no longer able to put together. Instead of Marshall's words of wisdom and his comfort, she heard her own voice again.

"_Maybe you'd get respect if you ever actually did something to earn it…"_

"_I remembered it's none of your Goddamn business…"_

It was these haunting phrases that made the tears stream from her eyes – like a faucet, like a waterfall, like nothing she could stop even if she tried and she didn't want to try. She was done trying. She was done. With all of it.

"Oh Mary…" she discerned Jinx, undoubtedly having noticed her face, or else heard the dry-heave-wracking sobs that were going to make her sick right there on the floor.

She didn't care.

"Sit down…" her mother suggested and these two words were like a trumpet, a resounding call that she was going to respond to.

She burst. The floodgates flew open. Her cramped stomach, her aching head, her clouded mind and the pain in her heart that was surely going to kill her any second.

"I CAN'T!"

Her voice was loud, but muffled all at the same time. She scarcely saw the three Mann's gaping at her before she turned and bolted. The last time she had run from a scene it had been in the WITSEC office, after she'd been abducted and thoughts of Spanky, basements, and gunshots had filled her mind past the point of tolerance.

Marshall had followed her then.

Her feet took her to the courtyard she'd sat in on the night of Marshall's first surgery. She was throwing up in the bushes by the brick's edge two seconds upon hitting the cool, autumn air. She'd puked once before when she didn't have anything to throw up, when she'd been in Kansas, pregnant with Sam on the day of Seth's funeral.

Marshall had been with her then.

The mix of uncontrollable tears, coughing and gasping, made for a lethal combination. She _really_ couldn't breathe now. This was the end – there was nothing left for her. The world was bottoming out and it was taking her along for the ride.

The creak of the door returned her to consciousness, but there was nobody she wanted to see. Nobody she hadn't disappointed or failed or would be of any help to her.

"Mary…" said a very sad voice, thick with sympathy that obviously hadn't gotten the message she was beyond assistance at this point.

Sputtering, she made herself stand. The pounding in her head presented itself in full force, her eyes stinging beneath the tears that she was drowning, losing her life inside. Carolyn was standing before her, watching her but not touching her or even attempting to.

Marshall.

"Mary…" she repeated without moving. "This is all my fault. I never should've gotten your hopes up the way I did. He told us what could happen and I just got caught up in it…"

Caught up in the hope. Mary hadn't even thought to blame her for such a thing. It was everything else falling down on her that made her feel so heavy she couldn't lift her limbs. It was every memory she'd ever shared with Marshall that she now felt certain she would never get to experience again.

Oddly, she stepped forward, as though she needed to be close to get her point across. She felt messy and submerged in her own sorrow.

"Did you know…?" she shuddered in the tears flooding her face, still speaking at the top of her lungs. "Did you know the first time I let Marshall feel Sam kicking was in your house?"

She squeezed her eyes shut which only gave the opportunity for more wetness to leak out. When she opened them, Carolyn was gazing sadly.

"The weekend that Seth died," she guessed; understanding and soft.

Mary nodded, fervently, faster and faster, somehow boosted by the comprehension but no less emotional. Her hand floated onto her stomach, once so round and a shelter of sorts in which her fingers had intertwined with Marshall's.

"His face…" she gasped. "I keep seeing his face. The way his eyes lit up…" the nodding switched to shaking. "I'm terrified…I'm terrified I'm never going to see that face again."

She had to stop to allow the admission of more tears, but Carolyn just waited.

"He thought I was beautiful…" she went on foolishly. "Six months pregnant to nine – I was a killer whale; every inch of me was huge and he told me every day that I was gorgeous…"

Her luck had run out. It was time to stop looking for it.

"You never…" Mary shook her head, hiccupping now. "You never saw me at nine…" more hiccups. "But I was…I was enormous – I looked awful – but he…" she was overcome with his old compliments now. "He…"

She had to stop, hardly able to understand how to breathe in this state. Being such a mess was humiliating.

"I'm sorry…" she blubbered, unable to look at Carolyn even as she fell further and further beneath the earth. "I'm sorry…"

But she made no effort to stem the flow and it was then that Carolyn decided it was all right to extend a touch. Both hands on her shoulders, forcing them face-to-face. Gentle but direct.

"Honey, let it go…" she shook her head even as she gave the advice. "Let it go…you were trapping yourself and it's time…"

Mary wanted to argue, but she really didn't know how. She'd forgotten. She'd lost the will.

"How could he think I was beautiful…?" she wasn't sure why she was focusing on this. "Then?"

Carolyn's smile was a little less unhappy as she slipped one hand out and brushed Mary's hair behind her ear. It was damp where the tears had leaked into the strands.

"Because he loves you."

"After Seth's funeral…" two more hiccups against two more tears. "He told me the baby…Sam…"

Carolyn nodded patiently.

"Had found his home…when I took…" she needed to say their names, but it took her a moment. "Sophie and Sarah…" a breath. "And Daniel and Quinn…" a hiccup. "And Claire to play kickball."

Another tender smile from her mother-in-law – a memory she could share.

"They had such a nice time that day," she revealed. "It seems like a long time ago now."

It did. It seemed ages. That scared her. It scared her the further the years spread themselves apart when she didn't have Marshall to help her remember.

"Mary, can I ask you something?" Carolyn posed calmly.

Her daughter-in-law nodded, giving herself a break from speaking. Carolyn's free hand had not left her shoulder.

"Why do all of these stories that you're afraid of forgetting have to do with Sam?"

She had cracked the code. Wildly intelligent like her son, she couldn't be kept at bay forever. She had sensed it in the air, more than Mary thought she herself would ever do again.

Mary more gulped than swallowed, but wasn't able to make the crying subside. She'd come undone at the seams.

"Marshall told you…" her pitch so quiet. "That I was going to give Sam up for adoption when I learned I was pregnant."

Carolyn nodded, very businesslike, "Yes."

That even-tempered 'yes' was difficult to respond to. How could she go on when Carolyn had acted like there was nothing to it, nothing to be ashamed of, nothing for her to fret over? It was everything – it was the decision she'd almost made that haunted her nightmares.

"It was only because of Marshall that I didn't do it," Mary found herself spilling out. "What do I do if he dies and…and…?"

The very idea had her sobbing all over again, closing her eyes against the guilt but the timbre to Carolyn's reply was much more direct, far more certain than Mary had expected. It surprised her into looking at her for the answer.

"Mary," she said firmly, squeezing her shoulder for emphasis. "Do you honestly have so little faith in yourself that you think you would just _give up_ on Sam without Marshall?" there was bewilderment in there now. "You are a _mother_. You have been a mother for seven long years which, if I recall correctly, is more than your father could say."

There was something muddled about that sentence, but it didn't really matter.

"Honey, there was nothing wrong with what you wanted to do," she continued. "You have a dangerous job, it wasn't something you planned, and you were trying to do what you thought was right…"

Mary did not believe this. She never did, but the effort being made just had the droplets splashing faster.

"But you figured out where your heart was and you stepped up," she said it like she was proud. "With or without Marshall, when you held Sam in your arms you would've known if it was meant to be or not. And it was."

Was there something to be said for figuring it out? That she had _not_ chickened out, that even if she had it would've been warranted? That there would've been someone on this planet who would've understood it either way?

One was not enough – one confession was not enough. Her fear was not simply for letting go of Marshall. It was for this woman that stood in front of her.

"I'm not sure I can lose you too," she said thickly with a huge sniff to keep her nose from dripping anymore.

"What?" Carolyn wrinkled her brow.

"If something…" now she wasn't sure where to go. "I mean, if…" she shook her head and looked at the ground. "I'm not…Sam isn't…"

Although she had never once said the words, uttered them aloud, the light dawned just the same.

"Mary, I think I must be speaking Swahili when we go through this…"

Was she really trying to make her laugh? Now?

"I'm in this for the long haul, dearest," she clapped her shoulder roughly with a most peculiar, amused look on her face. "You're my family Mary. Sam is my family. You think you're taking my youngest grandchild away you've got another thing coming."

Mary wanted to emit a chuckle but found it was too hard. It made her chest hurt, the sensation so opposite of everything else that was being expelled. Instead, she tried to articulate where this dread at no longer being a Mann came from.

"I just don't think I deserve-."

"Why?" Carolyn interrupted; if Mary hadn't known better, she might've thought her tone held annoyance. "Why wouldn't you deserve to have a family? Because your father left you?"

If Mary weren't so tired, she'd have been exasperated by how quickly she figured this out. But now there was a strange warmth floating in her belly at how well this woman knew her.

"Mary, your dad ditched you for something a lot less satisfying than your mother and two little girls," she said firmly. "You think that means you're not worthy of a second shot with us?"

Mary tried to wipe her eyes, to say that she understood this already, but she _didn't_. She _had_ – somewhere deep down – but she'd always needed an explanation for why her father had left. Right now, she couldn't think anyway. She felt blurry and worn-out.

"But I used to say things to Marshall…" Mary began, amazing even herself at the way she was managing to fly from one end to the other with no space in-between, still needing to get across why she felt the way she did. "I used to treat him like he…"

"_Maybe you'd get respect if you ever actually did something to earn it…"_

The look on Carolyn's face convinced her that her mind had not caught up with her mouth. She had very likely just articulated the phrase aloud, the phrase that had been dominating her nightmares since Marshall had been shot. She really was out-of-it now.

"I said that to him…" she leaned in, inches from Carolyn's face and slumping her bones ached so badly. "What in the world would _ever_ possess me to say something like that to him?"

"Well…" Carolyn took it in stride, letting go of her for the first time since she'd arrived and stepping back. "Why did you say it?"

"We were fighting," she answered with an unattractive sniff.

"How come?"

It seemed eons ago – another lifetime, another world, and just about the only day before this week that called upon this much fright. She had to pull it from the rear of her mind, from the dusty corners she'd long since packed away.

"He was thinking of leaving the Marshal Service," she admitted. "And he hadn't told me. I snooped in his mail and found out."

To her shock, Carolyn actually laughed, as though the whole situation were ridiculous, hardly worth losing sleep over and yet that was exactly what Mary had been doing.

"He forgave you, I take it," she assumed.

Mary nodded. It was obvious.

"Then he must've understood."

The million dollar question sprung to her lips when it came to all things Marshall as of late.

"_Why_?"

Carolyn never lost her trademark, sympathetic smile despite how odd they were, standing face-to-face in a dreary looking courtyard while the leaves danced around them, the sky overcast and murky.

"Because he loves you."

Mary really could've asked the same thing all over again. What should've been satisfying was not, and Carolyn clearly sensed that.

"Mary, you have faults – there is no question," she decided it was okay to make known. "I don't think they're any secret to you. You know that you can be stand-offish and blunt and crabby for seemingly no reason at all."

What might've made Mary angry once before, now made her improbably grateful, somewhere far beneath where she was still feeling what went on around her. It helped to know she was recognized for her less-than-attractive side, but still loved.

"Listen…" Carolyn touched her again, her side this time, just around her waist. "Marshall adores the fact that you are tough and you don't take any crap from anybody and you could lead the sharp-shooting squad at WITSEC."

There was a hitch in Mary's breathing then as she immediately processed the five-letter acronym. It couldn't be. She'd never said a word. Even as her mother-in-law stood there with her eyebrows raised, providing all evidence to the contrary, Mary still couldn't believe it.

She knew.

And yet she pressed on.

"But it's not _just_ for that," she emphasized. "You're also warm when you want to be. You're smart. You go for what you want and you _never_ give up…"

Even Marshall had yet to describe her such a way.

"You would do anything for him and you gave him a son," Carolyn finished in a whisper. "That love is not for nothing, and this is not the first time I've told you that."

Not since her father's letter dated February 5th had anyone ever said anything that made her heart swell with this much joy. Sorrow masked in joy was difficult to discern, but she felt it way below, even though it made her knees wobble and the tears fall again.

"Oh honey…" Carolyn brushed the dampness away this time, nickname well-worn and evident. "You are beyond exhausted. Please go home and sleep. Sleep for days if you have to," she quipped with a wild wave of her hand.

Something still wasn't fair in this equation and Mary needed to get it out along with everything else.

"He's your son, Carolyn…"

"Yes, he is," she answered definitively. "And I'm scared out of my mind. But I believe in him and I believe in you too. What's meant to be will be."

If only everyone could make it so simple. Vaguely, Mary had to speculate on whether she really felt so mundane about it, but she knew she didn't. She obviously just didn't want Mary to feel any worse.

The blank look Mary was sure lay on her face must've prompted Carolyn to alter her approach slightly.

"You gonna be okay or are you still feeling sick?" she murmured, reaching out and putting a hand on her forehead, which recalled Mary to the notion that she'd been ill. "One of the boys can take you home if you need them to."

It was like Mary had been with Sam, claiming his tummy hurt after his bad dream. Carolyn knew there was nothing wrong with her – physically.

"No…" the younger woman whispered. "I'm fine," she lied. "But…can I ask you something else before I go?"

"You can," Carolyn nodded swiftly. "Fire away."

Her mind took her back – over seven years back – to a Kansas kitchen and a roasting, sunny July in fields of wheat and clouds of dust. It took her to a woman with a kind smile and a big heart, the epitome of her stand-up son. The images suddenly became so clear she had to hold them close, and she needed a new memory to make her feel better if she lost all the old ones.

"The very first time we met…you said that we were family…" Mary reminded her. "And Griffin and Julian wouldn't shut up about the way Marshall apparently went on and on and _on_ about me…"

Carolyn laughed, pure and plain and clean.

"What did he say?" Mary whispered. "What had he told you?"

Carolyn seemed endeared by the final question and took up Mary's hand in her own. The touch was soft. Like a mother. She knew about that. At least she thought she did.

"He would come to me…" she began. "Every Christmas, every time he was home, sometimes days in a row when we spoke on the phone…" squeezing her hand now. "And he would say, 'Mom, you have _got_ to meet Mary someday. She's so smart. There's this warmth about her – only you can't tell her I said that…'"

Mary was getting it now as she let herself slump in her mother-in-law's embrace with the realization, weeping all over the back of her shirt. The pats on her back kept her feeling alive.

"'And no matter how hard something is, she never gives up.'"

It hadn't been Carolyn talking. It had been her husband.

"'She's a pain in the ass, mom, but she's the best friend I've ever had.'"

Partner. Pain in the ass. Best friend. Wife.

Had she deserved all the goodness even then, when she'd merely been his partner that kicked him around and made fun of his intelligence and his intellect? Carolyn must've been reading her mind because she held her tighter, kissing the side of her head.

"'She prefers to act like she doesn't give a damn but I know that if I _really_ need her – she'll know it and she'll come.'"

Pulling out of the hug, Carolyn stared into her green eyes, hard and direct.

"He told me that two weeks before Seth died, after he'd told me you were pregnant."

Was Mary supposed to believe some cosmic coincidence had brought them together that fateful weekend – Marshall's convictions, Seth's passing, the fact that Sam had resided in her belly finding his family whether any of them knew it or not? She didn't know.

"Sweet girl…" Carolyn whispered without waiting for a response. "If he feels anything right now, it's that he misses you and his boy and he's gonna be back with you as soon as he can."

And if Mary believed _anyone_ in this moment, it was her.

**A/N: All right, I know I've been saying this a lot but I BEG you to stay with me! Please-please-please from the bottom of my heart, hang in there! I know at least one of you saw Mary's meltdown coming, and I feel like it needed to happen and I needed a catalyst to get her there. But she's hit the bottom, she's gotten confirmation from Carolyn that they're gonna stand by her, and it can only go up from here, right? I promise – there are better things RIGHT around the corner! Give me one more chapter and I hope you'll be feeling more optimistic with every chapter after!**

**Oh, and thank-you so much for reviewing! I don't mind the differing opinions on the Mark situation at all and am glad you're sticking with me. I wouldn't blame any of you for giving up after this sob fest, but I sincerely hope you won't! XOXO**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: I cannot tell you how pleased I am that so many people enjoyed the last chapter! I really thought you guys would've had enough of all the drama and Mary losing it. It is so great to know I was not completely off-the-mark!**

XXX

Mary gave in, her crying spell making her all-the-more strung-out, and went home. The house was empty and quiet and there was nothing left to do but crawl into bed. She felt certain her spinning mind would prevent her from dozing off but it appeared she was past that, past the point of letting emotions run her sleep schedule. She was gone the minute her head hit the pillow, 10:30 in the morning, drifting into worlds where Marshall was alive, up and breathing, jaunting around, spouting his wisdom, playing with Sam and resting beside her when the darkness turned to black.

She woke only once, and she guessed it must've been around 3:30 when Sam arrived home from school. She heard just two voices before she fell away again.

"Where's my mom?"

"She's sleeping Sammy; let her rest…"

The tiniest murmuring in the back of her mind told her to get up and say hello to Sam, but she was unable to listen, unable to function properly. Most of all she didn't want him to see the disappointment she was sure still lay etched on her face, and so she allowed the dreams to carry her away once more.

When she came to again, it was dark outside but she could still hear people moving around beyond her bedroom door. Rolling over and squinting at the clock she saw that it was close to seven. She'd been out, give or take, close to nine hours. As soon as the realization hit her, she heard the gentle creaking of her door, the sound of tiny, cautious toes on the threshold.

She expected Sam, but she could hear him out in the kitchen. So then it must be…

"Jesse?"

He stood there, tottering on his heels with that silly, faraway look he got when he had more than one thing on his mind. He reminded her of Brandi when he did that.

"Dad told me to…make sure you were okay…" he reported, nearly word-for-word.

Mary was hard-pressed not to wonder why Jesse was the chosen spy, but Sam sounded like he was busy and for that matter, she had expected Brandi to be with the boys, not Peter. She'd heard her earlier.

"Your dad's here?" his aunt questioned as she sat up against the headboard. And then, knowing he was just going to stand if she didn't invite him, "Come in – but shut the door," she fed him a mischievous wink.

Jesse was more than happy to be let in on the secret, and did as he was told. Shutting the hatch, he bounded in and did a flying leap onto the bed. Mary reached over to hit the light on her night table so she could see his face. He was sitting on her knees, but she didn't mind for some reason. Although she hated it when other people were right, the elongated nap had already made her feel better. Her mind felt clear and her muscles didn't hurt so much anymore. Come to think of it, she was also starving.

"So what's Sam doing?" she asked. "How come you got to be the one to poke the sleeping bear in the eye?"

Jesse frowned, not understanding the analogy. He _wasn't_ Sam; she had to remember.

"Why'd your dad ask you to come in here?" she rephrased. "And not Sam."

"They're playing the Wii," Jesse told her. "Dad beat Sam twice, so he wants his…" he screwed up his face in concentration. "Revenge?"

"Yeah, that's right," Mary nodded appreciatively.

She realized then that Jesse had really taken a backseat, not just within the last week but his whole life. Although the boys came from different mothers, they were practically brothers and he had suffered the dreaded second-kid blues. In the last seven days alone, his own mother had become obsessed with taking care not only of him, but of Sam and tending to his every need. People always forgot that, while alike, Jesse and Sam were not the same person and Jesse really was different. He was shyer and sweeter (without so many of Mary's genes) and much less willing to speak his mind if he was unhappy. Worst of all, he really did undergo the pitfalls of being younger than Sam and also less of a brainiac. It was always expected he knew everything that Sam did and he may not have had Mary's influence, but he definitely didn't have Marshall's in excess.

"How you been Jess?" Mary asked as she thought about all this.

He was clearly taken aback, but shrugged, "Fine."

"Rough couple of days huh?" she prompted.

Now he nodded, "Yeah."

Mary considered, suddenly remembering her outburst just the day before that Jesse had walked in on – not to mention the birthday debacle.

"I'm sorry everyone's been so crabby lately, Smoosh. You keep getting stuck in it."

Jesse didn't seem bothered by this, or even paying attention to it. He and his aunt were rarely alone, and so this obviously seemed an opportune moment to voice something that was on his mind.

"Why do you call me Smoosh?"

It was definitely Mary's turn to be taken aback, mostly because she didn't have an answer.

"I'm not sure…" she began. "I guess just because I call Sam 'Smush' and I call your mom 'Squish…'"

"But…why?" Jesse interrupted.

Mary found herself grinning at the persistence. It was a good thing she'd gotten some rest prior to this conversation because otherwise she was likely to have become very annoyed very fast.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Kind of goofy names aren't they?" she reflected.

A giggle, "Yeah."

Mary wondered, vaguely, if there was a reason for the interrogation, if there was something more behind it that he wasn't voicing.

"Do you not like it when I call you Smoosh?" she took care to ask.

Jesse shrugged again, scratching his nose absently. By all accounts, he wasn't too bothered.

"I don't know," he repeated her. "I just wondered where you got it. But it's because of my mom?"

This, for whatever reason, seemed to make him happy. He was Brandi's boy, there was no doubt, even with as much time as she spent doting on Sam as of late. She was a classic mother, a traditional cool, fun aunt. Mary wasn't sure _she_ was either.

"I've called your mom 'Squish' since we were kids," Mary told him. "Your guess is as good as mine on why."

Jesse giggled again, but didn't say anything to that. When the silence fell around them and became slightly more uncomfortable – at least for Mary – she decided she wanted to keep it going. She was really starting to feel a little badly he'd been shuffled to the side in light of Marshall's shooting. He had to miss him too – he was his only uncle. Sam had Peter, Griffin, and Julian plus a truckload of cousins. Peter's only sister wasn't married and lived way up in Utah so Jesse never saw her.

"Jess…" she started to say, cocking her head like she was trying to get his number. "Do you…actually like horses and weapons and cowboys and all that stuff that Sam likes?"

She didn't know what made her ask, and it was clear from his face that Jesse didn't know why either. It even seemed to make him a little awkward, or as awkward as a five-year-old ever got. He folded his hands in his lap, pressing them into the mattress between Mary's knees. His shoulders hunched with tenseness.

"Well…sometimes," he offered.

"Just sometimes?" Mary asked, trying to sound even.

"I _do_ like them," he obviously wanted to make known. "But there's other stuff too…"

"What kind of stuff?" his aunt prodded quickly in her anxiety to get the answer.

She knew even before he said anything that it was going to be something Sam did not enjoy, something he felt he had to keep a secret or his older cousin wouldn't think he was cool anymore. Such was the problem of the younger half.

"I like cars," he said in a little voice.

Mary smiled, hardly able to see how she hadn't pegged this already.

"Like your dad," she stated simply.

Jesse nodded fervently, "He has _so_ many at his work! There's this new one – I forget what it's called – but its _purple_!" he burst excitedly. "Did you ever see a purple car before?"

"_Did_ I?" Mary couldn't keep the awe out of her own voice. "I _had_ one, outlaw!"

"You did?" Jesse shrieked with enthusiasm. "Where is it?"

"Well, I don't have it anymore," Mary was sorry to disappoint him. "It was called a Probe."

"I don't think that's what this is called," he shook his head.

"No, I don't think so," Mary tried not to laugh. "But it was a sweet ride, Jess…"

With a jolt, she suddenly heard Marshall laughing about her describing it as such. That Junker had gotten them in more jams than either one of them cared to count.

"Smoke flew out the back," she told him, as though this was something only the really great cars did.

"Why don't you have it anymore?" Jesse asked, shifting up and off her legs, crawling around onto the bed itself, stretching out on his stomach as if he were about to be told a story.

"It gave out – stopped working," she clarified. "I miss it though."

"Maybe my dad could get you a new one," he offered, leaning on his elbows now, chin in his hands.

Mary smiled and reached over, tousling his shiny blonde streaks. His hair was stick-straight, falling perfectly over his head. Sam's was not exactly curly, but the waves really took an upswing if he ran around a lot, or spent any time in the wind.

"What other kinds of cars do you like?" she asked him to avoid answering.

He launched into a full-blown description of the kinds he had seen at Alpert's Autoplex, of the ones he liked on the Mario Kart game – helping Mary to unlock the secret of why he wanted to play so often – what colors he wanted his to be, including both inside and out. As she listened, she wondered if he'd ever talked about this with anyone, if he felt he had to keep it under wraps because it wasn't the norm in this household.

"But Sam doesn't like cars very much…" he finished lamely, as though everything he'd just said had no merit at all.

Mary wasn't about to let him think that.

"That's okay," she assured him. "You can still like them. You can like whatever you want. You don't have to do everything Sam does," she continued. "He'll be your friend even if you want to do different things."

She hoped that was true. Not as soft-spoken as Jesse, Sam was still the master of acceptance in most cases.

"Why don't you go back out and see him and your dad?" she patted his back as he lay sprawled on his belly. "I'm gonna take a shower; then I'll come too, all right?"

"Okay…" he agreed, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Mary was about to do the same, before her nephew approached her from the ground and put his arms around her neck. How had she forgotten? Sensitive, touchy-feely Jesse. Couldn't leave the room without getting a hug in. He was fortunate she was used to it by now.

"You're a good boy Jess," she found herself telling him as she messed up his hair in the back. "Don't forget that."

"I won't forget!" was his reply, which made Mary laugh as he broke away and headed for the door.

Once he was gone, Mary hit her desired destination, grabbing a new pair of pajamas to change into after her shower. She spent longer under the water than she'd meant to – the warmth, the heat and the steam, made her feel new, helped her start fresh. Although nothing had changed, although there was no reason for her to believe any better of things than she had that morning, sleep had helped to un-fog her thoughts. It wasn't so hard to keep moving – at least not right now.

Once back in her drawstring pants and an old white T-shirt, she ventured out into the living room, her hair still damp and swung over her shoulder. Jesse and Sam were playing a board game at the coffee table, Peter sitting on the couch above them. All three turned at her footsteps.

"Hi mom!" Sam waved as he moved his piece.

She was pleased to see that he was in a good mood. She could only attribute it to the fact that she'd made her promise not to return to gunplay at work until further notice.

"Hi bud…" she stood as she watched. "You guys have dinner?"

"Yep," they answered simultaneously, neither one looking at her anymore.

Peter stood up, leaving the men to their own devices and walked around the coffee table, Mary suspected to assess her condition. As it was, he bussed her cheek and gave her a quick, one-armed hug, reminiscent of his son.

"How are you?" he asked. And without waiting for her to answer, "You look better. You must've gotten some sleep."

"Yeah," she said with a simple nod. "I did."

"Good," Peter said appreciatively. "I understand you had a bit of a rough morning."

Mary didn't know whether he had spoken to Brandi or Jinx or both, but she decided it didn't really matter. He would've found out anyway, regardless of his line of communication.

"Yeah…" she said again with a sigh. "Not what we would've hoped."

"My little detective didn't wake you did he?" Peter brushed over Marshall's state-of-being quite swiftly. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I told him to be quiet."

"No, he was fine," Mary shook her head as she eyed Jesse. "I was up." Then, deciding she might as well do the thing properly, "We're gonna build our own Probe together, right Jess?" she called over to them.

Jesse nodded with a giggle, tongue poking between his teeth with understanding.

"What's a _Probe_?" Sam asked, looking up from the game.

"A spaceship," Mary lied. "The outlaw and I are gonna spot UFO's in Roswell."

"Yeah, right," Sam scoffed.

"I wouldn't dismiss so quickly," Peter chimed in-in an undertone. "It's more plausible that lemon you had could fly to the moon than make it down the street without dying on arrival."

"Very funny," Mary decided to play along.

Peter laughed and said, "Can I get you something to eat?"

She'd forgotten how hungry she was and her stomach emitted a growl right on cue.

"I guess that means yes," her brother-in-law joshed as he went to the kitchen.

Mary stayed behind and watched the boys finish their game, which apparently was just wrapping up. She was going to assume, with Peter or Brandi in charge, that Sam had already done his homework, although he rarely had much in the first grade, mostly letter-writing exercises and reading practice. As both men concluded their match-up, Sam stood up and he and Jesse followed Mary into the kitchen where she decided to help Peter.

"Hey mom, guess what?" Sam asked as she grabbed a glass from one of the upper cabinets.

It took her a moment as she reached, but eventually she turned around to face him.

"What?"

He and Jesse were standing side-by-side opposite her and Peter.

"Dad's going to wake up," he stated boldly.

Mary thought she must be having a stroke. No matter how many times she said it back to herself, she refused to believe he had just uttered those five words. He wasn't serious. He couldn't be.

"_What_?" she repeated.

Peter had quit making her sandwich and had stopped to listen. Even Jesse was looking perplexed.

"He is," Sam nodded confidently, shooting Mary's theory that she'd misheard all to hell. "Really soon."

Was he traumatized? Was this newfound spirited attitude the result of some sort of weird isolation he'd shifted himself into? She had not told him they'd made the attempt to bring Marshall out of the coma, smart enough to know that if it didn't work she couldn't bear to disappoint him again.

"Sam…" Mary set her glass on the counter and reached down to pick him up around the waist.

She placed him on the upper counter so she could see into his eyes, legs dangling over the edge.

"Why do you think this?" she had to start somewhere. "What makes you think…?"

"I had a dream about it!" he revealed.

Shit. Things had been going so well.

"What kind of dream?" she decided to play along.

"I can't really remember all of it," he said in a thoughtful voice. "But I definitely know dad woke up. I'm not sure what day it's going to happen either, but it's soon. I even thought maybe it was going to happen today, but I don't think he was quite ready."

Mary just stared at him in complete disbelief. Sam was a very rational kid – he was like Marshall. He loved to play pretend but he had always had a very firm grip on reality. He had understood long ago what was make believe and what wasn't.

"Sam, you know that dreams are just…?" she couldn't find the right words and jumped to the end. "…Right?"

"Not all the time," he spouted scholarly. "Once I dreamed I was going to forget that library book and then I _did_!"

"Sam…" she was unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes, no matter how she tried to keep the gesture at bay around his ideas. "That's not the same."

Her son shrugged, not deterred in the least.

"He will," he stated forcefully. "I know it."

Mary really wasn't in the mood to break his heart, not when he was so sure. But she really hated to see him disappointed again when this did not come to pass. Could he take another blow so close to the last one?

"Well I…" she tried not to stomp all over his wishes and went on, "I hope that happens, Sam."

He just smiled, clearly not at all abashed by the fact that his mother was not buying into this. He must've really latched onto this, Mary thought. It was no wonder he was in such a good mood.

"Hey…" she diverted tactics. "It's about time for pajamas," she reminded them, tapping her palm against Sam's dangling legs. "Come here Jess…"

And without waiting for approval, she reached down and lifted the younger boy onto the counter beside his cousin. Something strange inside her wanted to see the pair of them together and as she watched them turn in toward one another, Sam poking Jesse, Jesse giggling, she was struck for the first time how different and how similar they were all at the same time.

One blonde, one brunette, one green eyes, one blue – one shy and craving acceptance, the other outspoken and confident – but something had bridged the gap between them. Worlds of dragons, swords, cowboy boots, and pistols had convinced her son that what swirled in his subconscious was out there somewhere if only he believed, if only he reached far enough.

With this thought came another as she played Sam's words back over in her brain.

"Sam…" both boys looked at her now. "You said – in your dream – you thought maybe dad was going to wake up…_today_?"

"Mmm hmm," he hummed with a nod. "But he said he wasn't ready just yet. He needs some more time, but he'll do it when he feels better."

Spooky. Really-really spooky. So spooky Mary nearly felt chills.

The boys had gone back to whatever they were doing, lost in their own universe.

"You two are crazy, you know that?" she said abruptly, just watching them kick their feet and laugh together.

"Sure mom," Sam said like it was the most natural thing in the world. "We're just like you."

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the Jesse-time! He gets a little more exposure later too. Mary's men never disappoint. ;) **


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I love In Plain Sight, but it's not mine (just to get that back out there.) **

XXX

Friday brought the comfort that the weekend was on its way and by the time Jesse and Sam were out of school, Mary was ready to call it a day. She'd spent the morning at the office with Stan and the eternally perky Delia, whom she had managed to avoid since Marshall's shooting. It felt good to do something ordinary – as ordinary as life at the Sunshine Building was – but every now and then a voice in her head, loud and harsh, reminded her why her husband's desk was empty, and those nagging thoughts got pushed to the front of her mind.

She'd spent the early part of the afternoon at the hospital, but was determined to be at the house when Sam and Jesse got off the bus to give her son a sense of normalcy, if just for one day. Brandi was with her when they both came through the door, backpacks flying, cheeks slightly pink from the nip in the breeze.

"It's my Shannon men!" Brandi greeted them as they tossed their bags onto the couch and unzipped their jackets.

"_Jesse's_ not a Shannon," Sam reminded them. "His last name is Alpert."

"He is so a Shannon," Mary rebutted, taking his windbreaker to hang up in the closet. "Brandi and I are sisters and we are both Shannon's, therefore Jesse is a Shannon also."

She didn't miss her nephew beaming at the comparison.

"I still think I should be a Mann," Sam articulated as he swaggered into the kitchen. "Like dad."

This reference threw Mary fairly forcefully into the discussion she had-had with Mark concerning Marshall's adopting Sam. She had yet to give him an answer and he was set to fly back to Jersey by Sunday, if not before assuming Mary figured things out faster. She had no idea what he'd been doing during his unexpected vacation in Albuquerque but she hadn't heard from him.

"Mare…" Brandi interrupted her thought process as Sam tossed Jesse a juice box, which he promptly dropped. "I've gotta go to the bank before it closes and pick up the…"

"Can I go?" Sam butted in before she could finish.

Both sisters glanced at one another, and then at Sam.

"I guess…" Brandi said uncertainly. "If your mom says it's okay."

"Sure bud," Mary told him, leaning on the island. "I don't know what you're gonna do there."

She didn't suppose it mattered really – maybe it was just a chance to get out of the house, of something not exactly customary.

"He wants the lollipops," Brandi whispered under her breath, improving Mary's understanding. "You want to come, babe?" the mother asked Jesse as she grabbed her purse off the counter.

Jesse, looking a little upset but not tantrum-worthy, shook his head.

"Well…" Brandi glanced at Mary, not exactly concealing the fact that she didn't want to leave the aunt alone with her nephew.

Word had gotten around quickly about Mary's little episode at the hospital, and everyone had been tiptoeing around her even more than usual. There was no denying she was still pretty miserable, but gaining some sort of regular sleep schedule and even going into work had boosted her energy, not to mention Sam's newfound enthusiasm.

"I'll stay with him," she offered coolly.

"Are you sure?" Brandi questioned even as she took her keys out.

"You think I'm some high school girl who's gonna make out with her boyfriend during my baby-sitting gig?" Mary accused. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Fine…" Brandi said with a smirk and a roll of her eyes. "Let's go Sammy…" and she cuffed her own nephew around the shoulder and headed for the door.

Once they were both gone, Mary suddenly realized she didn't really know what to do with Jesse even if she was perfectly capable of taking care of him.

"Smart move if you ask me, Jess," she said out of nowhere. "Banks are boring."

He nodded, as if he'd been thinking the same thing and then decided to speak up.

"Can we play Mario Kart?"

The game always took Mary back to Sam's second trip to Kansas, right after James had died, and Daniel and Quinn – about nine and seven themselves – had taught her how to play. She had become more schooled since then, but Marshall was usually still pretty skilled at whipping her ass, not to mention the other boys. She still thought Sam's obsession to play as Toad came from his first experience with the game.

"Yeah," she agreed with her nephew. "For a little while."

As they stepped into the living room and took seats on the floor in front of the television, Jesse responded to her comment as he picked up the controllers.

"Are you going back to the hospital later?"

"Probably," she told him honestly. "I like to give Marshall's mom and his brothers a break. And I like my time with him too," Jesse handed her a controller as she spoke.

"Sam said there were all kinds of pipes and stuff…" he swallowed as he sat cross-legged next to her. "When he saw him."

"Well…not pipes so much…" Mary tried to clarify. "Tubes and wires and things. They're helping to keep him going, you know?"

She didn't feel like discussing this. It brought what she was trying to forget to the forefront. She couldn't continue just pretending what was going on _wasn't_, but now that she'd started crawling out of the hole it was difficult to turn around and go back. Not to mention it was a hard fall back to the bottom.

"Let's play Jess," she advised in hopes of quieting the questions.

Fortunately, the invitation distracted him and they started round after round of races. It was less intense than when she played with Sam; Jesse didn't make such a fuss when he won or succumb to silly taunting the way Sam did, but he kept things steady. Mary certainly didn't _mind_ Sam's approach – it reminded her of her own way of playing – but it was enlightening, to try it with another. She was learning all sorts of new things lately.

They were through about six tracks when Mary heard her phone going off where she'd left it in the bedroom. Pausing, she appealed to Jesse.

"Can you play with the computer for a minute?" she asked him. "I've gotta grab my phone," she was already standing up.

Jesse nodded, choosing not to speak.

"You want a snack?" she offered instead. "Why don't you get you something while I answer?"

"Okay," he said, and joined her upright.

They split in opposite directions once they both went on their separate missions – Jesse to the kitchen, Mary advancing at a quick jog back to her bedroom to make sure her Blackberry didn't switch over to voicemail before she reached it. Anxious as she eventually made it to the night table; she hit the talk button before checking who had bothered to phone.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

"Hello honey," Carolyn said smoothly from the other end. "You been running a race?"

"No…" Mary waved an indistinct hand even though Carolyn couldn't see her. "I was playing video games with Jesse and I…" this was boring and didn't matter. "Never mind. What's up?"

"Sam's not there?" Carolyn inquired, neglecting to answer what was up.

"He went to the bank with Brandi – something about lollipops," Mary reported vaguely, not realizing how badly she needed some sort of an update until it was dangling right in front of her.

"Well…" Carolyn started again. "I have a little bit of news – potentially good news, although nothing's going to happen yet."

Mary sensed even through the speaker that Carolyn was working her hardest at not dreaming too big or aiming too high, not after the way Mary had reacted when Marshall couldn't come out of sedation and had to be put back under. She really had quite the damning effect on positive individuals.

"What's up?" Mary repeated, allowing her to go on.

"They think Marshall may be able to come off the ventilator by Monday."

By _Monday_? That was just three days away – a virtual time warp considering the eternity they'd been slogging through.

"Why?" she asked a little more skeptically than she intended. "What's changed?"

Carolyn responded, but a noise out in the kitchen distracted Mary to where she quit listening. It sounded like Jesse was scraping a chair across the linoleum. She couldn't see him from her post in the bedroom, but she was pretty sure that was what he was doing.

"Jess, you got it?" she hollered, putting her fingers over the mouthpiece.

"Yeah!" came his voice, as though from faraway.

"Sorry Carolyn," she apologized. "What's changed?"

"They just think he may have built up enough…nutrition, or won't be so malnourished or…" now she sounded slightly distressed about not being able to remember exactly. "I mean…he talked to us about it the other day…"

"No, sure I remember," Mary tried to sound understanding. "It's no big deal; I get it."

Carolyn let out a sigh of relief at this and Mary knew she couldn't continue to let her pick up all the slack, to garner all the specifics and report back to her. She was doing her part as much as she could but it was time for Mary to step in.

"Well…I…" Carolyn fumbled slightly. "I mean…it sounds promising…"

"Yeah, it does," Mary didn't want to dash her hopes, but was still discouraged by the tone in her voice, the way she seemed to tremble on every other word. "Is there anything else going on?"

"No-no…" Mary could picture her shaking her head. "Nothing, I just…"

Unfortunately, Mary missed what came next by another loud scraping and banging that came from the kitchen. She was really stupid to have let Jesse get into the cabinets by himself; neither he or Sam were exactly limber.

"Jess, hang on a minute!" she muffled the speaker for the second time. "I'll help you, just-!"

But her instructions hit a wall when she distinctly heard crying coming through the other end of the phone. She was so surprised she didn't even know how where to begin. She'd been able to tell Carolyn was wearing thin but she hadn't expected this. Where were Griffin and Julian? And dumb Mary – she'd been taking advantage of all this support from her mother-in-law without lending any in return.

"What's the matter?" she asked at once, putting a hand to the mattress as though she intended to stay. "Are you okay?"

More moronic behavior – of course she wasn't okay.

"I'm just…" Carolyn was already attempting to get a grip. "It's a lot all at once…" a sniff. "It feels like it's been forever and he's barely been this way a week…"

Honestly, how would Mary be acting if this were Sam? She should really try to put herself in this woman's shoes.

"Carolyn, don't worry about it," Mary assured her. "I'll stay down there tonight…"

"No-no; you need to be with Sam honey…" she ordered in what was usually her no-nonsense voice.

"He can stay with Jinx or Brandi. He's doing a lot better actually…"

She didn't mention why. That the reason he was in such a chipper mood was that he was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that his father was going to spring to life any minute based on some nightly premonition.

"You can come here," Mary went on without waiting for her to protest. "All three of you. You can stay in my room and either Griffin or Julian can sleep on the couch. One of them will have to hang out in Sam's bed. A little small, I concede but…"

Carolyn managed a shaky laugh and Mary knew one of the men would likely remain at the hospital with her, both due to lack of sleeping quarters and that they didn't want Mary to be by herself. But it was the best she could do.

"You're sure you don't mind?" her mother-in-law asked cautiously.

"Please…" Mary scoffed. "Come on. How many times have Marshall and I invaded _your_ house? As I recall, I showed up on your doorstep once without invitation."

Another wobbly, watery giggle, but Carolyn seemed to accept the offer this time, for which Mary was grateful.

"I'll come back about six," Mary told her. "I'll bring some dinner and then—."

But she was forced to quit talking when interrupted by a loud thud and then a howl straight out of the kitchen. Whirling around, she knew at once what it was – Jesse. She'd completely forgotten, even in just two minutes.

"Better go," Carolyn had obviously heard as well. "I'll see you later."

"Sorry…" Mary offered lamely. "See you."

She hung up, wondering why she hadn't opted to go and talk in the kitchen so she could've kept an eye on Jesse, but she'd become so caught up in Carolyn's wave of unexpected emotion it hadn't occurred to her.

"Jesse!" she called, dashing back into the living room. She could hear him sobbing even before she returned. "Jesse…!"

He was on the ground halfway between the island and the counter, bawling and clutching his knee. He had clearly fallen from a chair pushed up against the cabinets. One of them was partially open – Mary could guess that he'd reached too far and slipped off, crashing to the ground.

"Jesse man…" she jogged over to him and unwound the fingers grabbing his knee for dear life. "That's why I told you to wait…" she kneeled down in front of him, still attempting to pry his fingers loose.

"Mary, I falled…" he blubbered, as though she needed help noticing.

"You don't say," was her response with a light chuckle. "Come here…"

He became all limp and shuddery when she hoisted him off the floor and into her arms. Unlike 'big brave Sam' who forever claimed he was too old to be held, Jesse never had the same qualms. There was innocence deep inside he still longed to possess.

"Don't cry…" she advised, rubbing neat circles onto his back. "It's no big deal," a promise.

Jesse didn't take this suggestion to heart and kept up his steady stream of tears and Mary decided a kiss on the head might be all right at this moment.

"You okay?" she asked, as if he would even bother to answer. "Let me get a look at your knee…"

Not waiting for him to agree, she placed him on her favorite spot – atop the counter. It was the perfect height for the boys so she could give them the once-over and she didn't know why sitting on furniture was so exciting, but to five-to-seven-year-old kids, it certainly seemed to be.

"Easy…" Mary said as she started rolling up his jeans, Jesse wiping his eyes. "Easy…I'll be careful…"

Trying not to rub the fabric against his skin, she pulled his pant leg up over his knee to see that three scrapes sprouting just a minimal amount of blood were glimmering against what was soon to be a bruise. She was somewhat surprised; she hadn't thought he'd actually have anything but a purple mark.

"Ooh…" she breathed, trying to feed his theatrics a little bit so he'd feel like some sort of survivor. "Did you hit the side of the chair, outlaw?"

He nodded, sniffling pitifully. This explained the scratches.

"Well, I'll fix you up," she said casually. "Slap some band-aids on you; you'll be ready to go in no time."

Seeing that he was still looking melancholy, she tried to sunny things up a little.

"You need a good strong leg to work the gas pedal on your future Probe, right?"

He didn't smile, much to Mary's dismay. Wiping snot from his nose across the side of his face, he finally spoke again.

"Is a Probe really a spaceship?"

"No," Mary laughed, reflecting over her words from the other night. "I was just kidding – playing around with Sam. It's a car."

She thought this might prompt a grin, but nothing. He just looked at her, disheveled, cheeks blotchy and red. He looked down before he shocked her with what came next.

"I'm dumb."

"You are not dumb," she refuted this claim immediately without even thinking about it.

Wanting him to look at her, she touched his uninjured knee to recall his glance.

"Jesse, you are _not_ dumb," she repeated. "You're very-very smart."

Something odd struck her then. It had taken her-her entire life, up until about three days ago, to admit that _Brandi_ was smart. But here she was desperate to make her son not have to wait so long. Why did things work that way? Why did it take ages for certain revelations to come out of the woodwork?

"_Sam's_ smart," Jesse murmured in a small voice.

"Well, of course Sam's smart," Mary agreed. "But so are you. Just because Sam is doesn't mean you're not."

She was getting it now, however. The current state of affairs didn't help anything, but she was starting to figure out that while her own child was gaining all of the attention, another was getting shuffled to the side. Jesse had his own interests, his own strengths, but lost out just by not being the first-born, by not showing off his sparkle the way that Sam did. He had it – he simply hid it where it couldn't be seen. Like Brandi had been – too afraid of failing to try.

"Jess…" she remarked as she turned and rummaged in a side drawer for some band-aids. Once she came up with them, "You miss Uncle Marshall too. Don't you?"

She knew why – she hadn't until he said the words but once they were unleashed, she felt like she'd known it all along.

"He never forgets me."

In other words, Marshall never left him out. He treated him like he was special, like he was his own person. It was nobody's fault, really, these cracks that Jesse had fallen into – not charismatic Sam's, or doting Brandi's, or even surly Aunt Mary's. And there was no denying that this kid was the light of Brandi's and Peter's existence, but here was the proof that Marshall went the extra mile. Jesse was content to fly under the radar until one single individual vanished that showed him he was more than a carbon copy.

"He's good at that, isn't he?" Mary mused as she unwrapped her first band-aid.

"Yeah," Jesse nodded, getting himself under control.

"He's good at so many things…" his aunt whispered.

Before she could get the plaster on him, there was a knock at the door. Thinking Brandi might have forgotten her key, she patted Jesse's good knee before leaving.

"Just a second man…"

Striding across the room, she threw the door open and found not Brandi, but Mark.

She knew as soon as she saw his face that she should've called, that she should've said she was still thinking about what to do so he wouldn't have ambushed her like this. Now she'd stuck her foot in it. What did he want? Had he given up on her and was withdrawing his deal?

"Hey…" she started casual as she let him in and shut the door again.

"Hey," he replied. "Just thought I'd stop in and see how things were going. I thought maybe with everything going on you'd have forgotten…"

"No," she interrupted, leaving him in the living room and going back to Jesse. "No, I did not forget." Deciding to adopt a more sympathetic tone as she tended to her nephew, "Just…putting out fires all over the place here."

Mark stuffed his hands in his pockets at this, eyeing her peeling band-aids apart to assist the blonde boy on the counter.

"This is not Sam," he gestured blankly.

Mary flicked her eyes upward at this, unable to keep the contempt off her face, and then went back to Jesse.

"He's sharp isn't he?" she muttered, to which her outlaw finally giggled. "Here man…let me put these on…"

Jesse winced as she touched the tender areas around his skin, recoiling slightly, but trying to stay still.

"I know…I know…" she attempted to show she understood as she stuck the first, and then the second. "I know it stings…"

Securing the final band-aid, trying not to notice that Mark was watching her and waiting for a response, she rolled Jesse's jeans back over his legs and pulled him up around the waist to let him off the counter.

"No, this isn't Sam," she finally replied to Mark. With a groan as she lifted the five-year-old to the floor, "This is Brandi's son, Jesse."

Repaired and validated, Jesse himself seemed to decide there was no point in sticking around for this conversation and returned to his game on the floor. Mark joined Mary in the kitchen while she tossed the band-aid wrappers in the garbage.

"So…" she said, shoving the trashcan back under the sink. "What's up Mark?"

He shrugged, "How's Marshall?"

"The same," the answered swiftly, not about to go into detail. Then, knowing there was no point in beating around the bush, "Your offer still stand?"

"Yep," he nodded. "But I am going to have to head home soon and get back to work so if there's any way…"

But at that moment, the front door opened for a second time and both of them made the mistake of turning around even though Mary knew better, knew who it was this time, knew there was no hiding the fact any longer.

The look on Brandi's face was enough to convince her she was flabbergasted beyond comprehension.

"_Mark_?"

She stayed rooted to the threshold, but once Sam heard the name, he wasted no time, flying in with a green lollipop sticking out his mouth.

"Mark!"

Fortunately, her ex acted fast as Sam skidded into the kitchen.

"Hey-hey dude – how you doing?" he asked as he picked him up, both of them smiling.

Mary always got freaked out seeing them so close together. Sam looked more like Mark than she usually remembered.

"Didn't mom tell you I'm too big to be held?" Sam squirmed to be let down, which Mark obeyed.

Did this mean something; that he reverted back into his courageous qualities with the belief that Marshall was going to come to within a matter of days?

"You are a good-sized guy these days," Mark admitted, Sam expanding himself to his full height at this. "You're bigger every time I see you."

Mary couldn't keep her eyes off Brandi, who hadn't moved and was looking totally bewildered at seeing who was standing in her sister's kitchen.

"Jesse hurt his knee," she revealed flatly, staring her down, while Sam chattered away. "You might want to take a look at it."

This was supposed to be telling her not to be conspicuous, although there was no way Sam could know what was _truly_ going on.

"You hurt your knee honey?" Brandi took the bait, flinging her purse onto the couch and bending onto the floor. "Show me."

Meanwhile, Mary tuned back to Mark and Sam.

"You came to see dad I bet," Sam decided. "Did mom tell you he's going to wake up soon?"

This definitely earned her a look from Mark, "No…" he revealed uncertainly. "I heard he was about the same actually…"

"Well, he's going to be awake real soon," Sam declared. "He told me about it in this dream I had."

"That's awesome, dude," Mark was much better at going with the flow on these types of things. "But you'll have to tell him hi for me because I'm not going to be able to stay."

"Oh…" Sam whined, looking disappointed, big blue eyes sad and let down. "Why not?"

"Work – you know," Mark shrugged. "But I'm sure glad I got to see you."

"I'll walk you out Mark…" Mary acted quickly with the segue, taking him by the arm and leading him to the door. This progression produced another suspicious glance from Brandi, but Mary wasn't going to give her the opportunity to ask questions here.

Once she had let him out onto the leaf-strewn stoop, he gave her a very long, very hard stare, willing her to give up her answer or forget it. She knew it was time and that more of it wasn't going to make a difference. She'd known what she wanted from the beginning and it shouldn't have taken seven years to get it done.

"So?" her ex prodded.

Mary closed her eyes and reopened them again. It felt good to make a choice.

"I'll tell him tomorrow."

Done. Finished. Official. Or very nearly.

"I will get the paperwork," Mark nodded. "Talk tomorrow evening, in case he has questions?"

He knew Mary would want to handle it on her own. He knew more about her than she gave him credit for.

"Sure," Mary nodded too. "Fine."

Bowing out and backing away – all he'd ever done – Mary watched him strut on his heels down the walk and then turn to make the forward jaunt into his rental car. When she saw his hand on the door, she found herself shouting out.

"Mark!"

He paused with the door half-open, watching her as she ran down the walk. She slowed as they became close again, eyes roving over him, his willingness to give her what she so badly needed to make her life complete. She touched his arm and held his gaze in hers.

She didn't love him. Assuming Marshall made it through and could put pen to paper, he was going to become her child's father – officially, legally, and in every other way.

Sam was everything to her and she couldn't let this man get away without him knowing she wasn't completely heartless.

Squeezing his bicep, she smiled.

"I wouldn't have him without you."

**A/N: All right so, judging by the intermix of reviews concerning Mark, some of you will think it's in character for Mary to be grateful to him, and some of you might think it's not-so-in-character! Which is fine! If we all agreed, what fun would the world be? But I just hope you all remember that I enjoy Mark, which is why his reaction as well as Mary's was my route to go.**

**I also hope nobody's too disappointed that it looks like Mary is going to power through with her plan! We'll have to see what Sam is in for! **


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: All right – I need you to get in a certain mindset for this. Think Marshall. Mary, for all her convictions in every other area of life, does not think she is the greatest parent. She thinks Marshall is the greatest parent. Marshall is literal and scholarly and has molded Sam into the same kind of thing. Remember that Sam is smart and he likes facts and figures. Hopefully, that will make this entire conversation plausible. ;)**

**Also, you all are welcome to your opinions about Mark (promise!) but just as a refresher, it is Mary that wants the adoption happening right here right now, and so she is adhering to Mark's request. You're all still welcome to think he's a jerk though LOL!**

XXX

Mary had begun to think of weeks as entirely different cycles. Every Wednesday marked another seven days, rather than Sunday. And now as she directed Sam to the couch on Saturday afternoon, she recalled that a week before he had been destroying his own birthday party, mourning his father's absence. Just seven days later he was about to learn that father wasn't what he thought, in not so many words.

Funny thing, about weeks.

After telling Brandi the truth, she'd convinced her and Peter to take Jesse out – to the zoo – so she could have the afternoon with Sam. Jesse deserved his alone time anyway.

Equipping her son with juice and a snack of cheese cubes straight out of the bag (she hadn't been to the store lately) she guided him onto the sofa where they both sat across from one another against the throw pillows. Sam stretched out, legs almost reaching her lap.

Mary wondered just how upset he would be. Two horrifying events so close together wasn't something she relished.

"Sam, I thought we should talk about something," was how she began, as though preparing for a speech.

"Okay," he said easily, popping a cube in his mouth. "What should we talk about? How I made it all the way up the tree with that grappling hook you got me?"

Mary chuckled at this view, "I actually had a topic in mind Sam."

He shrugged unconcernedly, "Oh."

Mary was still hard-pressed not to be alarmed by the sudden change in his attitude. He had spent almost every day since Marshall had been shot worrying himself sick but now he acted as though nothing had happened at all, like it was routine.

"You're in a very good mood," she remarked, unable to keep the observation off her lips.

Sam bobbed his head up and down as he sipped from the straw of his juice box.

"Dad's going to be awake soon," he informed her stoutly. "It's coming up."

Right. How could she have forgotten? Still, it was a virtual 'yikes' moment for her brain. How was he going to react when his dream did not go according to the time table?

"Yeah, so you've said," Mary answered quickly to get off that subject. "Well Sam…what I wanted to talk to you about actually has to do with dad."

The doubt came quickly. For all his conviction, the combination of words clearly unsettled him and dreams didn't matter so much anymore.

"Nothing happened to him," it wasn't a question, but his eyes had grown dark. "Right?"

"No…no," Mary shook her head. "Nothing happened to him; he's the same as he was before."

"Good," a relieved smile as he waited for what came next.

Mary had thought about this most of the night, throwing her sleep schedule all out of whack again, but if there was anything she needed to spend as much time turning over in her brain as possible, it was this. When she'd pictured this conversation with Sam, he'd been much older and Marshall had been with her – maybe Mark too. But things were different now and she was going to have to go it alone. She was going to have to find a way to make him understand without distressing him in the process.

"Sam…do you remember when dad…" she started to say. "When dad tried to explain DNA to you?"

It had been a hefty conversation, a tester to see if he could grasp the concept without knowing why they were discussing it. As Marshall often fed him strange facts and figures, he was none the wiser about their intentions, and that had taken place over a year ago.

"Uh-huh…" he nodded. "It's the stuff inside you – the stuff you get when you're born."

Okay – this was a start.

"Yeah, that's right…" Mary nodded before Sam interrupted.

"I don't know why they call it DNA though," he said thoughtfully.

"It's just an abbreviation," Mary waved this away quickly. "It's shortened; D, N, and A actually stand for something else. It's too hard to say the real name."

"What is it?"

She should've known he'd ask.

A sigh, "Deoxyribonucleic Acid."

"Whoa!" Sam breathed. "Sounds like something in outer space!"

"Yeah," Mary was not really paying attention to this as she shook her head, trying to get back on track. "Anyway Sam…you were right when you said that DNA is the stuff inside you that you get when you're born."

He nodded now, head firmly in the game.

"And how you get that stuff is from your mom and dad – some from your mom and some from your dad. But you get your own unique set of DNA that comes from both your mom _and_ dad," she continued. "Make sense?"

"I think so," he said honestly. "But how do you get it? How's it get inside you?"

She had sworn she would _not_ have the sex talk along with everything else.

"Well…" she tried to get this bit over with as quickly and concisely as possible. "We've talked about how you lived in my belly before you were born, right?"

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "Only, dad told me once it wasn't _really_ in your belly. People say that, but…"

She might've known he'd correct her.

"If you want to get technical, it was in my uterus," she fought not to roll her eyes. "Which is sort of…" stretching the truth now. "Near my belly."

He nodded again. She knew he understood that part. She decided to try skating over the rest to see if that would suffice.

"Sam…the thing is…" she clasped her hands now as she watched him scarf down another cheese cube. "In _most_ families, your mom and your dad are the ones that gave you your DNA. But it's not like that in all families."

He stopped eating now, peering at her with some degree of scrutiny. She wondered how much he was gleaning.

"Did I get mine from you and dad?" he asked.

Mary sighed. She could say it, she could put it all out in the open, but she still wasn't sure he would understand its significance. No part of him seemed upset, even though he seemed to have figured out why she was talking to him about this.

She took a deep breath.

"You have mine," she told him plainly. "But not dad's."

The look on his face didn't change, but he did seem curious.

"But…you said you get DNA from your mom _and_ your dad," he reminded her. "If I didn't get any from dad, where did it come from?"

By all accounts, this was really going exactly as she'd expected other than the fact that Sam seemed very aloof about the whole idea. Part of it surprised her, that she could know her son well enough to know what questions to pose, what to bring up, so he would pull the ideas out of the woodwork himself.

"From my friend Mark," she told him simply.

That word 'friend' felt strange on her tongue. She'd never had friends, before or since Marshall.

She decided to give Sam a minute on that, to process it, to come up with questions if he had them. He still had a studious, concentrating look on his face. He reached to put his empty juice box on the table, still holding the bag of cheese in his lap. After several moments of this same face, he spoke.

"How come?" he asked.

"How come what?" Mary prodded, hoping she was ready.

"Well…how come I have Mark's and not dad's?" he wondered. "Why didn't you just give me dad's?"

Briefly, Mary tried to figure out where he'd gotten the idea that it was of her choosing, but it had been in more ways than one.

"Sam…" she kept saying his name, and she wasn't sure why.

She also wasn't sure whether she dared risk the next part of the explanation. Things had really been going very well and she feared her admission would ruin them. But it was as much a part of the story as anything else and it could only help _her_, if nobody else, to get even part of it off her chest.

"_Most_ people…" that word 'most' again. "They get married and then they decide whether or not they want to have babies. I did things a little backwards. I didn't necessarily _plan_ on having a baby."

She hadn't banked on having a baby at all, necessarily or otherwise, but why delve into specifics?

"But Mark and I…" she really couldn't think of another way to say this. "We were _together_…" not true, but it would have to do. "And then I found out I was going to have you."

He nodded, but she wasn't entirely sure he was grasping this so she decided to make sure before going on.

"You with me, bud?"

He nodded again, so she decided to take him at face value.

"Sam, I knew dad back then," she told him. "And we were really good friends but I just…" she shrugged, about to look skyward for guidance. "I didn't know just how much I cared about him. I didn't know I wanted to marry him."

"So…" Sam opened his mouth. "Once you figured out you wanted to get married, you decided you wanted me to have his DNA instead?"

They were getting there – slowly, a little round-about, but they were getting there.

"Yeah, but Sam it was kind of too late for that," she conceded. "I can't change that part of you and I wouldn't, even now," she found herself saying. "You wouldn't be here without Mark. There's a lot to be said for that."

This was a part of the conversation she had not planned, but the gratitude had spilled out on its own. This was something she couldn't have said if Marshall had been sitting with her, but she needed to give Mark his due. He was an innocent in this situation. All he'd ever done was given her what she wanted.

"Bud, remember when I said before that to most people, your mom and dad are the ones who gave you your DNA?" she wanted to see if he'd been listening.

"Yeah…" he murmured uncertainly.

"If we looked at it that way, I'd be your mom and Mark would be your dad…"

"But he's not," Sam interrupted, looking slightly worried. "He's not, right?"

Oh, yeah. He got it all right.

"Sam…" she scooted forward so she was halfway down the couch now, closer to him as she went on. "To me, your mom and your dad are the people that you live with, the people who take care of you, the ones that you see every single day, that tuck you in at night and wake up with you in the morning, that play your silly games and give you dinner and hug you when you're sick and even when you're not…" she was rambling now, all caught up in it, more desperate to make him understand than she'd really thought.

Looking into his blue eyes, probing them for some kind of recognition, she saw that he looked completely and utterly calm.

"Would you say that's true, Sam?"

"Yeah," he nodded, wholly convinced. "That's what I think too."

But how could she be sure he really got it? She wondered as she leaned back against the pillows. She wanted to be certain, and yet she wasn't sure it even mattered.

"What does DNA really _do_?" he asked before she could figure out how to go on. "It's really just stuff that sits inside you?"

"Well, it does quite a few things," Mary admitted. "But, there are also these things called genes," she worked in briefly. "Together, they decide what you're going to look like since you get some from both your mom and…" now she was confusing herself. "And your dad."

"But you said I didn't get any from dad."

"Well, in your case it would be from Mark," she clarified. "Like, you have dark hair?" she reminded him, eyeing those gorgeous downy soft waves. "You got that from Mark; he has dark hair."

He was nodding again. Could she really be making any sense?

"Sometimes it figures out what color your eyes are…" she started to say. "Or the shape of your face; things like that. But sometimes, even when you have somebody's DNA you still don't look like them. I mean, you have mine but your hair isn't blonde and your eyes aren't green."

He was thinking now. She recognized the face, the ability to put the pieces together.

"What color are Mark's eyes?" he asked suddenly.

"Mark's eyes are brown," she told him, not sure why he wanted to know.

He peered at her closely, even leaning forward slightly.

"And your eyes are green," he said, repeating what she'd just articulated. "Mine are blue…"

He looked slightly lost now, but before Mary could go over everything she'd just said another time, he kept on talking.

"So, how'd I get blue eyes if…?" he didn't finish the thought, but Mary was happy to pick up the thread.

"See Sam, that's what I mean. Sometimes you end up with traits that are completely your own," she explained. "Or sometimes you end up with something your parents don't have, but _their_ parents had."

This was getting a little messy now. She decided to power on in hopes of clearing it up.

"My dad had blue eyes," she whispered, even as she stared straight into his. "That's probably where you got them."

She'd spent a lot of time pretending Sam's shade came from Marshall, some cosmic coincidence, for just that very reason. Every time she looked at him, she didn't see her husband as she constantly claimed. She saw James. And it made something ache low in her chest, no matter how she tried to bury it. It was frustrating to have someone you loved so much resemble another that you would never see again.

"Bud, I know this has got to be confusing," she whispered, touching his knee, cheese long forgotten. "Ask me something," she almost ordered him. "Are you totally mixed up?"

"Well…no…" Sam said thoughtfully, scratching the side of his head, and he sounded sincere. "You said that in most families the people who gave you your DNA are your mom and your dad…"

"Right," Mary nodded.

"Well…if that's what most people do, why _isn't_ Mark my dad?" he asked. "Didn't he want to be?"

This was one Mary hadn't anticipated. She'd thought if she could sell him, if she could make him understand that the rest of it wouldn't make any difference. Evidently she was wrong.

"It's not that he didn't want to…" she began.

This _was_ her doing. It was time to own up to it.

"Sam, I asked him if he would let Marshall – dad – be your dad instead," all the fatherly terms were giving her a headache. "Because I was going to marry dad, he was going to teach you how to grow up and because I love him and that was what I wanted our family to be," she explained. "It was really…"

Mark deserved this.

"It was very generous of Mark to do that. You know what generous means?"

"It means somebody gave you something special," the seven-year-old said promptly.

For the first time since she'd begun this conversation, Mary smiled.

"Yes. That's exactly what it means."

Sam nodded then. Mary thought maybe – just maybe – they had gotten somewhere. She was feeling tired from pooling all of this energy into such a conversation, but Sam seemed very content. He didn't seem to think things had changed at all.

That was what she needed to make sure of.

"Sam, I still want you to see Mark," that was the truth. "Mark isn't your dad but he and I – we made you. I know that sounds really weird Sam, but that's basically what we did. And I meant it when I said you wouldn't be here without him."

Fortunately, Sam seemed to pick up the segue, seemed to want to conclude this just as much as his mother did.

"So…" he rolled his eyes to the side, as though he was gathering all his resources to figure this out. "I have _your_ DNA…"

"Yes."

"And I have Mark's DNA?"

"Yes," Mary repeated.

"But dad is still my dad?"

"Yes," more definitive this time. "Nothing's going to change, bud. I really just wanted you to know the truth."

It hadn't been _her_ that wanted him to know the truth, but some part of her was glad it was over, with or without Marshall. It was one less thing to have to worry about down the road.

"Nothing's going to change?" he posed uncertainly.

"No," Mary switched tactics slightly. "You will live with me and dad and you can still hang out with Mark when he comes to visit and do everything that you always did. But, this is who you are Sam. It's important to know who you are."

She still wasn't sure she'd figured out who _she_ was, but why let her son suffer that way?

"Is this how it is in every family when you don't have someone's DNA?" he asked, a little jumbled in his words.

"No…" Mary found herself laughing. "This is pretty unique. It's different for everybody. Really Sam – I have _my_ dad's DNA and he left me," she shrugged, as though this was supposed to explain something.

Sam seemed to be pondering her declaration then, weighing his options, trying to work out the next mystery.

"Why did he do that, mom?" he asked in a genuinely curious voice.

"I don't know," she shook her head, telling him again. "I'll never know. He was not the greatest guy."

This spoke to her son in fewer words, remembering all he'd been hearing in the last ten days.

"Was he a criminal?"

Well, it was all coming out now anyway.

"Yes," she stated simply.

His eyes grew wide with this revelation, but he didn't push it. Still, it seemed to recall him to something else, to bring another truth to light. He was such a smart boy.

"Is that why you wanted me to have such a great dad, mom?" he asked with a smirk on his face as though he'd figured everything out. "So you knew he wouldn't leave?"

_Such_ a smart boy.

"You know Sam," she leaned over and kissed his forehead. "It probably is."

**A/N: I will try not to do too much blathering with this chapter, but I really hope you loyal reviewers of mine found this realistic. I have really tried to build Sam is a very intelligent individual that enjoys an onslaught of information like Marshall. I like to think that Mary would go that route in trying to tell him about Mark, which is why he's okay with it. DNA isn't important to him; it's just 'the stuff that sits inside you' and determines how you look, which is why he's able to still envision Marshall as his father. Obviously, if/when he gets older (I say if/when because he's fictional LOL!) he's going to know what this whole conversation really meant, but for now it's all he needs.**

**And even I wish Marshall could've been present for the reveal, but the whole reason Mary did it is because Marshall **_**isn't**_** present, because she thinks she's solidifying something that would be really important to him. She may be off-the-mark, he may not think that telling Sam the truth is a reasonable price to pay for the adoption – we don't know! But the whole point is that in Mary's mind, she's cementing the proof as much as she can in case Marshall doesn't make it.**

**I am sure none of that made sense! Sorry for all the chatter; if it were any good I probably wouldn't have to explain so much but I guess I just wanted all my ducks in a row. And you all are more than welcome to whatever opinions you have regardless; thank-you so much for sticking with me!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Thank-you so much for all the sweet feedback. I apologize for all the author's notes in the last chapter; I just like to get what I'm thinking across in case the story doesn't do it!**

**Hope you guys enjoy this chapter; it's not meant to depress, more one of those, "Everybody has a story" kind of things. ;)**

XXX

Determined to let Carolyn regroup while she was still feeling decent, Mary opted to hang out at the hospital again over Saturday night. She'd spent a very quiet evening there with Julian the day before, so this time it was Griffin who shared the space while Carolyn crashed at Mary's and Sam landed himself with Brandi once again. He spent most of the first five minutes in the drop-off spouting all his excess knowledge about DNA. It made Mary slightly uncomfortable at first, but she came to see that things would've ended as such one day anyway. Mostly, she was just happy Sam wasn't upset – and he didn't seem to be. At all.

After she'd spoken to Mark, who was bringing the paperwork over the next morning before he flew home to New Jersey, she headed back to the ICU for the long haul with Griffin. She wasn't afraid to admit it was a little awkward initially. They didn't have much to say to each other but eventually the ice cracked about nine o'clock. Griffin had stationed himself in a chair by the window, sipping absently from a cup of coffee. Mary held her usual post at the bed, trailing her fingers through Marshall's hair almost as inattentively.

"Won't you and Julian have to get back to work soon?" Mary asked from across the room. "You've been here almost two weeks."

Had it really been that long?

"Do they even know what's going on?" she continued.

She wasn't even sure who 'they' was, but figured Griffin would get the gist.

"I do IT work for the police department out of Overland Park – that's a suburb of Shawnee – so I'm good from the road," he told her. "Not that I've been getting much done," he added as an afterthought.

He took another sip of coffee, maybe for something to do.

"Julian may have to head home soon though – at least get some things settled before he comes back again," Griffin continued. "If for no other reason than that Claire misses him something awful."

Mary smiled softly. Even with Sam around, she still thought of Claire is the youngest sometimes. She knew a thing or two about missing your dad. Really, when she thought about it, sacrifices were all around here. Kids away from their fathers – husbands away from their wives. It seemed when Mary had lost Marshall until further notice, others had suffered the same.

"You two…" she started to say. "I mean, you don't have to…"

How did she want this to come out?

"I'll understand if you need to go home. Marshall would too."

She didn't want it to seem as though she were trying to kick him out and turned her gaze back to her husband's silent features, ventilator still in place. She still liked the way the stubble on his chin felt against her fingers.

When she looked up again, Griffin was gazing at her with some degree of wonderment, if that was what you called it. He seemed to be considering something.

"People think we're really close…" he sounded reflective, not looking at Mary but past her, somewhere above her. "Because we take the time to see each other, but the thing is…" he shrugged, relaxing further into his chair, ankles crossed. "We're really not."

Low and behold, she and the non-hugger actually had more than one thing in common.

"Been there," she nodded comfortably. "Brandi and I used to be the same way."

"You're not anymore?" he asked curiously.

"Well…" Mary took her turn at shrugging. "I kind of used to think of Brandi as this obnoxious nuisance that I couldn't get rid of no matter how hard I tried to bat her away…"

"That's flattering," Griffin interjected, but Mary ignored him.

"But, being close doesn't mean just seeing each other all the time," she went on. "At least, to me it isn't. I practically raised Brandi after my father left and she lived with me for about four years before she married Peter."

Griffin nodded, still downing his coffee even though Mary could practically taste the warm sewer-sludge quality on her tongue.

"We drove each other nuts, but once I figured out how to just think of her as my sister instead of this person I had an obligation to…" her voice trailed away.

This wasn't the same as what Griffin was expressing, and she understood that. But it was the best she could do on this front. The chunking of the ventilator swallowed their conversation briefly and Mary wasn't much for silences, so she pressed on.

"I don't know," she offered lamely. "Honestly, I _still_ forget Brandi's a grown-up – with a house and a job and a husband and a son of her own."

And this was just foolish, Mary had come to realize. Look at the kind of effort her sister was putting into Sam in Mary's time of need. Shouldn't that tell her anything?

"I don't know," was Griffin's response, the same as Mary's. "Marshall and I just…" he couldn't seem to pull his gaze from his brother's face. "We aren't anything alike. It's always been Julian and I…"

He shifted, clearly slightly uneasy discussing this with his sister-in-law. Mary decided to drop her gaze so he could continue if he wanted to without being stared at. She focused on the pattern of Marshall's blanket – sky blue with diamonds stitched in white around the edge.

"But it doesn't mean I…" another pause. "Just because we're not much the same doesn't mean…"

Mary thought the phrase: It doesn't mean I don't love him. He didn't have to say it.

She looked up, hoping to make him understand with just a glance and two words.

"I know."

Come to think of it, she was getting a little skittish herself with all these hearts laid bare. She concentrated on the coarse feel of Marshall's hair against her fingers, the way she could just drag and drag and take hours to get through one patch. Some small part of her could do it forever.

She was so busy trudging her nails through, trying to think of something else to say, that she was surprised to hear Griffin speak up again.

"I don't know," he articulated for the third time as he shook his head and sat back in his chair. "Don't ask where all this is coming from. I really hate hospitals."

"I don't think anybody _likes_ them," was Mary's response to what she considered to be an odd statement. "You ever hear of someone vacationing in the ICU? I'll take my Jello to go?"

Griffin smirked, but didn't seem to find the remark particularly funny. His eyes had pulled from hers again, that strange faraway look on his face. He was seeing something she couldn't. Something she never would.

"About…two months after Connie and I got married…" he shared out of nowhere. "We found out she was pregnant."

Mary sensed this was not a place where she should interrupt. He was gone.

"With Sophie and Sarah," she stated anyway, not even sure why. Maybe she was subconsciously anxious to hear why this was important.

And yet the answer, it didn't make sense.

"No…" he shook his head slowly, eyes still on the far right corner of the room, but they had drifted into days past.

Mary could do the math. The twins had come first; Quinn was younger than they were. So if this pregnancy wasn't the twins, than that could only mean one of very few things.

"I mean, we were totally shocked," the man revealed, and now he looked at her, gaze dancing with a reminiscent gleam. "We were super young; we hadn't even planned on having kids until at least a year after we were married."

Mary nodded. For some reason, her hand found Marshall's beneath the bedcovers.

"But we figured it out, you know…" something sad and wild in his face now. "We got this nursery ready – light pink with yellow trim and all these flowers. It looked like an Easter explosion," he said with a light chuckle.

Mary tried to smile and squeezed Marshall's hand. Some part of him was here for this.

"I mean, it wasn't what I thought it was going to be – the timing was all screwed up – but I was sure I was gonna have a daughter and so I thought I'd just make do…"

"Griffin…" Mary whispered, and she imagined her own face had gone sad and sympathetic. She couldn't even be sure why she'd addressed him. Something had slipped.

He didn't really have to answer to know what had gone on next. Why he hated hospitals.

"When someone called me from her office and said she'd fainted and they'd called an ambulance…"

Vacant again, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers clasped.

"I thought it was nothing. All the women on TV faint when they're pregnant," he gave a childish shrug, a quirk of his eyebrow.

He really _had_ been young.

"When I got there…" he had to force himself to swallow.

"Griffin…" she said it softer still, but it didn't stop him.

"They told me the weirdest thing," another shake of his head. "They told me…" he switched, jumped around. "There was all this blood…"

Mary could see it, like an old roll of film, black and white and murky. She clutched Marshall's fingers.

"And they told me…"

Those words again.

"Something had happened, something I'd never even heard of."

His eyes found hers, and they seemed to bring him back to the present, out of those haunting memories, out of earlier days where things aren't always as easy as they seem.

"Do you know what an ectopic pregnancy is?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"No…" she shook her head, being truthful.

"It's where the egg implants outside the uterus," he explained. "Usually in the fallopian tubes. They're not big enough to contain the baby so when it grows…"

Another picture formed in Mary's mind of shredding and ripping and bursting of all kinds of gruesome, graphic proportions. He needn't have gone on, and fortunately, chose not to.

"I thought they were crazy," he seemed more like himself now, although no less worked-up. "I was sure they had to be wrong. Who ever heard of a baby growing in something other than a uterus?"

The simple minds of the young.

"So guess what I did?" he went on, which was not a question Mary had expected. "I didn't ask to see my wife. I didn't ask if she was okay – I didn't ask if my daughter was okay."

Mary admitted it was a little peculiar, but gave him a chance to explain.

"I stared this guy in the face – mom was standing there with me – and I said…"

A hitch, a moment where Mary felt the climax.

"'Call Marshall. He'll know whether this is right or not.'"

What one thought of as ridiculous, another thought of as sweet. It still surprised Mary sometimes, the olive branch one would extend in times of crisis.

Even with this confession, however, Griffin didn't seem to think it was prudent to share whether he had actually reached out to Marshall in this moment. He transformed – slowly at first – back into the brother-in-law she was so familiar with. Slightly smirky and aloof, but harmless. Strangely kind at times.

"They got Connie all fixed up, obviously," he waved a dismissive hand. "But they told us – with the problem in her fallopian tubes – that she wouldn't be able to have kids."

Even though Mary knew the story had found its fairytale ending, she still felt a sense of loss. Newly married and barren. Happy honeymooning, indeed.

"Needless to say…"Griffin stretched back in his chair again, arms folded behind his head. "I'm not much for hospitals."

He actually tried to smile then, with a lame sort of shrug as though to explain the rest, but evidently even _he_ did not think this would fly.

"We tried everything," he adopted the same tone he had when describing his first daughter's supposed-entrance into the world. "To get pregnant. It took us five years and six rounds of IVF."

Selfishly, strangely, all Mary could think of was Marshall. She'd been has partner some fifteen years and he'd never mentioned his brother and his wife were dying a silent death not being able to create a family?

"Before…" the man murmured.

And the look, it lightened. His eyes, they danced. They shone. They gave life.

Mary found herself smiling too.

Sophie and Sarah.

"Connie likes to joke with me…" Griffin went on without even making the reference. "That we ended up with two because of the one we lost. Not a replacement, so much. Just…" he shrugged. "Another chance."

He looked a little lost inside himself again, and his next words proved it.

"I still wonder about that first one though – who she would've been, you know?"

Something inside Mary, some…_motherly_ something did know.

"What's hilarious though…" he laughed, threw up his hands. "You know what's hilarious?"

"What?" Mary spoke for the first time in several minutes.

"Quinn!" he laughed, a boyish, rascally glee evident now. "Five years of banging like horn-dogs…"

"Thanks for _that_ visual," Mary quipped.

"But seriously!" he wanted to get his point across, that was for sure. "Five years of nothing and three years after Sophie and Sarah…" disbelief etched deep within. "Quinn shows up out of nowhere. All on his own. No assistance required."

"Kind of make it sound like boarding a plane," Mary mused, and he laughed again.

She shifted in her chair slightly, nudged herself closer to Marshall. Suddenly, the longing for him to be awake returned in full-force. Wrapped up in tales long gone, she'd forgotten her own horror that lay beside her, not even breathing of its own accord. She wanted him here for so many reasons, but mostly to say she was sorry. Sorry she'd never known. His quest to an uncle had not been an easy one.

"Why'd you tell me this?" she found herself asking, for all his talk about what it meant to be close. He and Mary certainly were not the definition of that term.

"Because," was his prompt answer. "Because I know whether you tell me or not, this choice you've made with that ex of yours has got you thinking."

"Thinking about what?" she refuted without catching herself, ready to argue.

"You know it took them awhile to put the middle man here in the loop, but mom and Marshall _did_ eventually fess up to the fact that you planned to ship Sam to Kalamazoo or somewhere…"

"Bite your tongue," was Mary's response with a jabbing finger.

"Take it easy," he held up a casual hand. "The point here is that…I didn't think I wanted a kid either," he reminded her. "I may have accepted it, but I was married and had the means to take it on. It didn't mean I knew what the hell I was doing."

Mary still wasn't sure how this was relatable, but Griffin didn't give her time to think.

"When Connie miscarried, I seriously thought I had something to do with it," he admitted. "I seriously believed that because I hadn't wanted that baby…"

He held up his hands, indicating that she could decipher the rest. Even if she could, she didn't entirely understand where this was going. She fed him furrowed eyebrows to convey this.

"Things just _happen_ sometimes, Mary. You do and say and think all this crap you never thought would ever come to pass."

It wasn't exactly lyrical, but Mary still thought she understood.

"Would we _ever_ be having this conversation if not for the stakes here?" she asked her brother-in-law, gesturing at Marshall's still and silent form between them.

"I doubt it," was Griffin's answer. "All I'm saying is, even when things aren't exactly what you mapped out…"

He raised his eyebrows, and presented about his hundredth shrug of the evening – an indication to move on, give it up, and get on with it.

"They can still turn out okay."

**A/N: This was one was a little bit of filler, I must admit, but not to worry – it's not filler ahead! Thank-you, again, for continuing to read and review. XOXO **


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I understand the site is having quite a few issues! My review count has gone up and down fourteen notches throughout the course of the day LOL! Really bad timing if there's a problem for yours truly with this chapter because…**

**Well…YOU can decide what the italics are… :D**

XXX

Carolyn still couldn't believe it was Sunday night already. Sometimes, the days seemed to drag indefinitely and others she could hardly reconcile the fact that she'd been in Albuquerque nearly two weeks. It felt like so much longer and yet felt like nothing at all. Time and space had elapsed each other here – come to a standstill until she saw those fated blue eyes that matched her own.

Remembering vaguely, somewhere very far in the back of her mind, that Marshall was maybe going to come off the ventilator the next day, she didn't feel overly optimistic. Maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was the fact that she'd been stuck in neutral so long; she wasn't sure. But it was going to be a lonesome night, just the two of them before the Monday dawn. Mary was at home with Sam, and Sam alone, determined to have a normal start to the week with her son. Griffin and Julian had already crashed in the waiting room when she'd arrived after dinner, and she hadn't felt like waking them up.

As she sat at Marshall's bedside, she reflected what he might be thinking if he were watching from above. Not from heaven, necessarily, just from afar, just until he could pull himself far enough inward to experience it for himself. Would he be unhappy to see them all so distraught? Would he feel okay, if he knew he was going to be the same? Likely, he'd simply be worried – worried about their well-being, their time, their energy, and everything else. He was a great worrier.

A great friend.

Monitors steady, ventilator humming along, rise and fall of night and day, things just stayed steady and present, as Marshall himself always did.

Could he feel anything in there? Would he speak to her if he could? Try to tell her something? She _was_ his mother, after all. Nobody knew a boy like his mother.

This made her think of Mary and Sam. Then she realized, the time may have passed for a boy's contemplation of his caregiver. He had a wife and a son of his own to be concerned with. They were his family.

But it had been Carolyn who had taught him not to make the jump until you were ready. To always fall against the plunge, but do it when it counts. Don't wait if the time is now. But don't run too soon if it just isn't time.

Funny thing, about time.

"_Daddy! Daddy!" he cried and held his elbow, tears streaming down his face._

_The grass was hot, the flies were buzzing, and his elbow hurt where he'd hit it on the ground. It really-really hurt._

"_Marshall!" called the gruff voice that pounded toward him through the stable's double-doors. "I told you, son! You don't ride bareback!"_

_He was trying to look tough and not fall apart at the sound of his boy's sobs, but he was quietly calculating, checking to make sure the fall had not really cost him. It had been a very slow trot, at the fastest._

"_I'm sorry! I was just trying to get better!"_

_His elbow hurt. There was a bruise blooming, purple and ghastly. It really-really hurt._

_Swirls of color and sound – jumbled voices and bursts of red and black._

"_You're a geek, Mann!" snarled the jerk shoving him against the locker. "You're never gonna amount to shit!"_

_His back was throbbing where it had smashed against the roughness of the closet. Cold, hard metal digging into his bones._

"_I'll shoot off both your kneecaps one day," the lanky fifteen-year-old said calmly. "But I wouldn't have to. Because living well is its own reward," the words were inspirational, prophetic. _

_The bully scoffed and pushed again._

"_Try it," he growled._

"_It's not exactly hard for me to envision living better than some imbecile like you," he spouted._

_But meanwhile, his back was sore and raw. It hurt. It really-really hurt._

_A whooshing now – fine and smooth, but too fast to grab the shapes and hues. Blues and greens of striking richness spun themselves in circles of voices long since thought forgotten._

"_MARSHALL!"_

_A hot desert; parched and dry against the warbling warmth and sun. And his shoulder – it was stinging, pulsating painfully against his other limbs although his head was strangely clear. Something spun around in front of him as he cluttered to the dirt. He saw spinning tires, heard blasts of a gun._

_Mary was in that car. Someone was going to kill her, if they could manage it. He crawled on his hands and knees, the gravel dirtying his slacks. _

_A hand on the tire – a hand on the windowsill._

_And his fingers found the trigger._

"_Marshall, take cover!"_

_A blur of squealing rims and flying dust until he floated to his knees another time. _

"_Can you hear me…?"_

_That voice. It sang to him. Even though his shoulder hurt. It really-really hurt._

_There were screams now amongst the bright flags he couldn't catch. There was fear he couldn't place, as though no matter how far or fast he ran he would never reach where he was going._

"_Oh Jesus…"_

_It was Mary. It was Mary on a stretcher, her middle stained and drenched in darkest red. Pools of it, thickets and ponds. Her face, so pale and gaunt. He just ran, but something kept him from getting too close. It was his heart._

"_Mary, listen to me – it's not time to go yet…" _

_Tingling flesh as he pressed his lips to her forehead. He sunk to the floor, enveloped in his own knees, drowning in a river of his own tears._

_His heart hurt. It really-really hurt._

_It twirled faster now, the sights and sounds. Flying through the black and blue, his wounds smarted heavily, so heavily he wasn't sure he could lift them any longer, but they seemed to waste away. They seeped within for something else._

_The old familiar stomping grounds – his home. His home and Mary's home. He wanted to go home._

_Mary on the floor of the bathroom, coughing and retching into the toilet; tummy at its fullest size. _

"_What happened?" he whispered as he knelt beside her._

_Her soft, honey hair inside his hands, swept away from her face. _

"_Nothing…" she gasped. "God…"_

"_This isn't nothing," he pushed._

"_I needed a cup of coffee for the drive to Santa Rosa…"_

_He could taste the bile; the mention making him nauseous. Half the flavor of the traditional bean, the other the notion of a full-term Mary on the road alone. She could give birth in the middle of the desert._

"_Why would you do that?" he persisted. She had to have known it would make her sick._

_A tight hand inside his own; an aide in standing up. She rubbed her ribcage and sighed, even winced against the action so unexpected._

_And now his chest hurt. It really-really hurt._

_He was soaring – flying, weightless and free, channeling his spirit, his body and mind. Tall and high, wonderful and unspoiled. He was pooling everything into this. It was taking every amount of strength he had to make it through. Although he ached all over, every inch from top to bottom, it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all._

_This scene was the sharpest. Blurred only at the edges, he heard a monotone beeping; felt a body pressed against his own. _

"_Mary, I know it's hard but you need to keep pushing…" said a familiar voice from below._

_He had his arms around her chest. She turned her head to the side, a silent sign she was about to throw in the towel. Her eyes were closed and tears were leaking around the corners. She was a beautiful profile; even shiny with sweat she was beautiful. She'd been working hard. _

_Marshall leaned close so she barely had to whisper._

"_It hurts…" _

"_I know babe…"_

_She didn't hear the term he'd never used before because he covered it by kissing her temple._

"_I'm tired…" she moaned._

_Her eyes were still closed. She was warm in his embrace as she grimaced. He could feel the way she fought against the urge – fought against the pain. She began to tremble with the effort, not remembering to draw air._

"_Mare, breathe – come on; breathe…" Marshall instructed, his face inches from hers as he curled around her shoulder._

_There was fear in making the jump. It was a heartbeat falling lower and lower, a little boy depending upon just one person to get him here alive._

"_Mary, you've gotta push…" the woman held more urgency now. "He's crowning; he's almost out…"_

_He saw tear tracks lining her face; he felt her limp hand inside his own but the staccato breaths she managed were a beacon of hope._

"_I'm going to count to three…" Marshall decided. _

_Each second was twice as long. Three – maybe four times as long. But time had stopped in here._

"_One…"_

_Mary stopped shaking. Something was happening._

"_Two…"_

_There was a telltale throb in his hand. A sign of life._

"_Three."_

_The force expended upon him was like nothing he had ever experienced. It was strength of a new power – otherworldly yet tangible. It was digging in his ribs – pressure on his belly._

"_Good girl…" he praised. The strain inside his hand never subsided._

_The clarity began to spin. Words and voices meshed with one another. Marshall wasn't sure which was his own, which was Mary's, or one not-so-well-known. _

"_You're almost there…"_

"_Here he comes…"_

_One short, agonizing shout among the phrases. It reached Marshall as well; it made him throb and smart low in his gut. It didn't leave him, but he rode on past the pain. _

"_It's okay; you've got it; keep going…"_

"_We've got shoulders Mary…"_

"_You're gonna make it…you're gonna make it…!"_

_And then – in a churning mass of chaos – the hurt turned upside-down. _

_The cry caused pain so great it washed into joy. Beaming bright and pure – untouched and unharmed. The face of his son whose tears spoke of ecstasy rather than sorrow._

"_Oh Mary…you did it; he's here…" _

_But his belly still hurt. It really-really hurt. _

_And suddenly, the color turned to white. Blinding, a constant sun to shield against his lids. He stood perfectly still now. All the sound was gone, and yet he knew he was not alone. _

_Two pairs of footsteps, one slow and dragging, the other sharp and steady were somewhere nearby. He turned, whirled in circles._

_The white faded and Marshall saw them. Two men. Both of them strangely, achingly familiar. _

_There was nothing here except the three of them. A huge expanse, clouds on every side – a blank slate in each direction. _

_He found he could move his own feet now. He could get close enough to touch the other two._

"_Good to see you son," Seth said in his low rumble as he shook his boy's hand._

"_Dad…?" Marshall murmured, clutching his fingers. _

_He turned to the other man. He hung back, hands in his pockets, gazing through the white instead of at it. He couldn't see the other side._

"_Who's…?" the younger Mann felt the need to ask._

_Seth shook his head._

"_Don't worry about him," the elder, wiser proclaimed. "He's out there now…"_

_Where was 'out there?' Did Marshall want to go?_

"_Do I belong with him?" the little boy asked his daddy._

"_No…" Seth shook his head confidently. "I don't think so. But you can make your own decision, Marshall."_

_He'd waited his whole life to hear his father say that._

_His whole life. _

_And all at once, everything rushed in. A crying baby, his aching limbs, and the sound of Mary somewhere far away._

"_Can you hear me? Can you hear me…?"_

_He saw that face floating above his own in a black jacket and a white button-up, soon to be stained with his blood. She looked so scared. He didn't want her to be scared._

"_I must've bumped my head…"_

"_No, son," Seth interrupted. "Not exactly."_

_Marshall wasn't sure he'd said that aloud._

"_I might need to go with him…" he reiterated, pointing to the third man, who was approaching them now. "I know him…"_

_Did he know him? He wasn't really sure. But some part did. Some part deep inside._

"_You're…" Marshall whispered as the man came near, but he couldn't say his name._

_The third smiled a smile that nearly broke Marshall's heart. It was so familiar it was frightening. He felt like he could bottle the blue of his eyes in a jar. And then he spoke._

"_Please look out for her Marshall. Go home." _

_There was only one 'her' he wanted to go home to._

"_Go home son…"_

"_But dad…"_

"_Go home."_

_Burst._

_Flash._

_Gasp._

_Breathe._

_Pain._

_Pain. Elbow. Back. Shoulder. Heart. Chest. Belly._

_Belly. It hurts. It hurts._

_My belly hurts._

_Help._

_Blink._

_Breathe._

"…Marshall?"

**A/N: Ha-ha! I probably don't conceal what's going on here very well LOL!**

**Anyway, I hope this got uploaded okay and my condolences to anyone that has lost or vanishing stories/chapters over the last few days. Has to be so frustrating. **


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Ahhhhhh. I love this chapter a little bit. I hope you will too. ;)**

XXX

Mary was having the oddest, most bizarre dream. Only, it _wasn't_ a dream at all. It had actually happened to her, some seven years previously.

Her subconscious had taken her back to her last OBGYN appointment before she'd delivered Sam. It was the worst doctor's meeting she'd ever had, nine days before her due date and three before she'd actually gone into labor. Brandi was getting married just twenty-four hours later and Mary had a thousand things to do at work before her maternity leave, not to mention her maid-of-honor duties. The whole thing had made her very irritable.

Why would her mind go there?

"_I'm a US Marshal for Christ's sake…" Mary hissed at Marshall from her spot on the bed, wiggling her feet awkwardly in the stirrups. "I can get out of anything if I really want to…"_

"_Being a US Marshal doesn't make you, say, I don't know…God," he shrugged unconcernedly. "Or the president."_

"_I'm supposed to think there's a difference?" Mary quipped._

_Marshall had really taken things well lately. Her mood had flown off the chart; she was annoyed all the time and never hesitated to share it. She'd never felt more uncomfortable in her whole life. Her back had been killing her for about a week straight and she was having awful Braxton Hicks contractions._

_It was a combination of these things that caused Marshall to speak up when Doctor Reese entered the room, and Mary could've hit him then and there if not for the witness._

"_I'll just do the ultrasound to start," Doctor Reese reported, setting things up. "Then we can take a look at the rest, but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. The ninth month is hard on plenty of women."_

_Navigating her wand smoothly and swiftly across Mary's rotund figure, Mary herself began to feel a little conspicuous. Although she and Marshall had been 'together' (whatever that meant) for nearly three months now, they hadn't exactly taken the proverbial plunge into the realms of consummation. Mary doubted whether she'd ever feel remotely sexy again._

_Fortunately, he was an intelligent man and stayed casual, taking interest in the posters on the walls, the brochures on the counter, sneaking glances when he thought he could chance it._

"_Everything looks good," Doctor Reese chimed in minutes later as the image of the baby flickered onto the screen. "I'd say you're close to sixty percent effaced…" she transferred her hand to Mary's stomach, sliding her palm back and forth which Mary did not appreciate._

"_Have you been feeling him drop at all?" the woman continued._

"_I guess…" Mary shrugged, blasé but when she wasn't looking, Doctor Reese glanced at Marshall, who nodded behind her back._

"_Look at him; he's huge!" Marshall remarked excitedly to distract Mary from the gesture, referring to the image of their son._

"_Careful…" Mary grumbled. "He may wet his pants…"_

"_So…" Doctor Reese proceeded with a chuckle as she concluded the ultrasound and started unhooking everything. "What else has been going on? You been having really bad back pain, Mary? And Marshall mentioned Braxton Hicks?"_

_The woman scowled at her husband-to-be. _

_Evidently her look did the trick, prompting a full-scale examination to take place – blood pressure cuffs and heart monitors and stethoscopes. None of it hurt, but it was the principle behind it. Here Mary was, exposed for all to see on the tiniest of tables and this woman expected her to lean forward so she could check her heartbeat? Through her back? What could she possibly expect to feel that way?_

_That DID hurt, and she remembered it well. Hunching over her enormous stomach about put her into agony, her back throbbed so badly. It was the last position she would've chosen, having had it bother her so much lately. The cold, unyielding touch of the stethoscope did nothing to improve her mood either._

"_Exhale for me Mary…" Doctor Reese instructed._

_She did it, very begrudgingly, seeing as how she could hardly breathe these days anyway. She didn't stop herself in time to catch the wince that came from another painful twinge to her back. If she didn't sit up soon…_

_Fortunately, Marshall saw this one and squeezed her shoulder before she was finally allowed to resume her previous stance._

"_Mary, I don't think this is anything to be overly concerned about," Doctor Reese said after she'd finally finished. "But you're definitely high-risk because of your age…"_

_Why did people keep reminding her how old she was?_

"_Your back and the Braxton Hicks aren't the problem," she went on. "It's your blood pressure."_

_Mary wanted to pose a question at this, but the woman just prattled on._

"_I projected your due date at the fifteenth, which was on the later side," she reminded them, consulting a clipboard. "To be safe, if you haven't delivered by then I'm going to schedule an induction. You're at a much greater threat in developing hypertension; I don't want him going over."_

_Induction had not clicked with her. She'd never heard of it before. She cast her gaze to Marshall, who answered at once._

"_They'd give you a drug called Pitocin, which would make you have contractions," he explained. "It basically forces you into labor."_

_Marshall, usually so delicate with his words, had not made her feel any better._

"_Mary, it's entirely possible you could go into labor naturally before then so I wouldn't concern yourself."_

_Not concern herself? Was she crazy?_

_Unfortunately, it appeared she didn't care whether she was crazy or not. Leaving the patient to change back into her clothes and Marshall stepping into the hall to take a call from the office, Mary was left alone with her thoughts of being strained into the throes of contractions and delivery with no consent. She didn't understand the point. It was her kid – her body. Didn't they trust her to know when the time was right?_

_She'd never believed in taking the leap before the stars aligned. She always ran through the fire when she was certain, but why make mistakes in forcing when you'd just do better to wait it out?_

_Marshall returned just as she was trying to shift her shirt back into place, which wasn't going well._

"_Damn it…" she cursed, her back to the door, unable to get the seams straight._

_Marshall stepped over to her and corrected the mistake, which she resented rather than appreciated but decided not to voice it this time._

"_You okay?" he asked as he pocketed his phone._

"_Shouldn't I be?" she shot back._

"_You don't want to be induced?" he guessed._

"_Would you?" she responded quickly._

"_You don't want to overcook him, Mare," he rationalized._

"_You know – not really a fan of the oven analogy," she informed him snidely._

"_Then try this on for size," Marshall offered. "The longer he stays in, the bigger he's gonna get which is going to make you infinitely more uncomfortable."_

_It was bad news all over today._

"_The whole thing is ridiculous," she decided. "Why can't they just wait until I'm ready? Until I make the strides myself? Isn't that better than being shoved in headfirst?"_

_To not fly until you grew the wings – to always take the risk, but never when it didn't matter. Don't waste a second if the time if the time is now._

_If the time is now…_

_But don't sprint too soon if it just isn't time._

_If it just isn't time…_

"_It may not even be necessary," Marshall was saying. "I'm sorry about your back," he apologized to cut across this subject. "Leaning up like that could not have been fun."_

_She shrugged, tired of feeling…tired._

_Marshall took this to mean exactly as she'd hoped and extended gentle fingers against her cramped muscles._

"_Jesus Mare…" he kneaded harder. "You've got all these knots; it's no wonder you hurt."_

_It felt good. It felt really-really good._

"_I'm not taking you back to the office like this; you're not gonna sit at that desk…"_

"_Marshall, come on…"_

_But she couldn't hear him so well now. Something else was invading her trip down memory lane._

"_No; forget it," he was firm. "You can work from the house. You're going home."_

"_What?" she spat._

_Even though she had said that exact word, it seemed she was speaking it for an entirely different reason as well – because she couldn't quite make out the phrases._

"_You're going home."_

"_What?"_

"_You're going home…"_

Mary woke up feeling confused and disoriented. Why the hell had she been dreaming about doctor's appointments? About putting her feet in the water headfirst? What on earth?

She then realized her own addled brain had not woken her. It was her cell phone – erupting in a fit of buzzing on the nightstand, its glow cutting through the pitch black of her bedroom. Groping inattentively, she squinted at the clock before answering and saw that it was fifteen minutes shy of four o'clock in the morning.

And the trepidation sunk in. The name on the display was Carolyn's and the time of the day combined with where her mother-in-law was spending the night about did her in. There was no reason she would call if not to tell her that something had happened to Marshall.

Something far-far worse than her head could contemplate.

With shaking fingers, she hit the talk button and put the Blackberry to her ear.

"What happened?" she croaked without even saying hello.

The breathless tears on the other end convinced her it was even more epic – epically horrible – than she could've imagined.

He hadn't…he couldn't…

It wasn't time.

"Carolyn, what happened?" she demanded before the other woman could find time to respond.

"Mary…" she finally said. "Oh honey…"

Don't say it – please don't say it.

"He's awake."

But…

Wait…

Hang on…

Slow down…

"What?" Mary whispered.

She was still dreaming. She was caught in limbo between fantasy and reality.

She had to be.

"He's awake! Marshall's awake!"

And something about hearing it twice put it into motion.

She _was_ dreaming, in an entirely different, more fantastic way.

"WHAT?" a much dissimilar 'what' this time as she sprung up in her sheets.

"He just…" tears of joy. "I was sitting here with him…" more blubbering. "And his monitors started going off – I thought there was something wrong but they came in and…"

A pause to let it take effect.

"Before they even got here…" beside herself with glee. "Mary, I saw his eyes. I can see them right now."

Beautiful blue eyes.

And now his wife was sobbing too – mixed tears of bliss, of rain to wash away the hurt, of knowing this nightmare had ended.

"Is he okay?" she bawled, hand over her mouth in hopes of promoting comprehension.

"He's fine…" her mother-in-law reported. "He was supposed to come off the ventilator tomorrow but about thirty minutes after he came to they tried weaning him out and he's okay," that word again. "Can't talk very well – his poor vocal chords – but whispers here and there."

How Mary longed to hear them as she wept unashamedly in the darkness.

"Mary, he's _him_. He was ready now."

If you're ready now. Why wait if you're ready now?

Even as the sights and sounds, the colors and pictures of her husband – alive, breathing, awake, and ready to live a new day – told stories in her mind, only one thought forced its way through and it was mutual with Carolyn.

Mary didn't want to cut her off, not at this monumental moment.

She couldn't ask her to share.

But she understood, and one word did the trick.

"Go."

She didn't need telling twice.

"SAM!"

The phone was thrown from her ear as she leapt out of bed, as she flew down the hall, as she crashed through the door of his bedroom.

"SAM!"

He joined her slowly, blearily, elbowing up on his pillow. He peered uncertainly through the darkness, unsure why he was being forced into consciousness at such an hour.

"What's going on?" he murmured, rubbing his eye with his fist.

And now it was Mary's turn to change the world. It was her turn to say the words – to make everything all right. It was her turn to make her son's dreams come true. She found herself beaming, somehow managing not to shed tears. If you could _feel_ a smile, this was what it must be like. Stretched so wide your ears hurt.

Mary looked right into Sam's eyes and they prompted delight.

"Dad's awake!"

It took him absolutely no time at all. But she shouldn't be surprised. Someone had made him a believer.

"He's awake?"

Sam clambered and stood on his mattress, just wanting to make sure.

All Mary could do was nod in response – waiting to hear the words she was certain were on their way.

"I _knew_ it!"

He stumbled his way across the fabric, nearly tripping himself in his blankets and sheets as he bolted for her.

"I _knew_ it! I told you he would! I told you he would…!"

He jumped sky high from the bed like he'd come off springs, forcing Mary to catch him and to laugh as he landed in her arms. The phone was tossed to the toy box at the foot, still connected to her mother-in-law.

"I knew it…" he said it over and over again, inches from her ear and she nodded fervently.

He felt _so_ good pressed against her – warm, snuggly, trembling from joy rather than sorrow. His hair was soft and so were his flannel pajamas. She kissed his waves countless times, unable to stop herself. The exact color of maple syrup and molasses.

"You're brilliant…" she whispered, dampening his locks now. "You're brilliant; you're a genius…"

Mary wasn't sure she had ever said those words to anyone. And if now was the time for spouting phrases…

"I love you Sam…" his legs wound around her, head-to-head, cheek-to-cheek. "I love you so much."

She loved that he had Mark's hair and her father's eyes. She loved the way he grinned like Brandi when he was feeling mischievous, the silly distant glance reminiscent of Jinx when he wasn't paying attention. The way he longed to be tough like his mother when underneath he was sweet and sensitive like his father.

She loved that he was smart like Marshall – that he giggled like Marshall and was polite like Marshall. He was kind like Marshall, daring like Marshall, and when he got excited, when something thrilled him to the limit, he even _looked_ like Marshall.

"I know," her son interrupted in response to her declaration, and she adored that too.

He always knew when the time was right – even before he had walked the earth, he had known. Some intuition had taught him what the exact moment was to spread your wings and fly.

Mary's heartbeat was strong against his own, fingers clutching and gripping, unable to let go. She couldn't stop the steady breathing against the night – the sound of her own gasps, the tightness of Sam's fingers on her neck kept her convinced this was a reality she had longed for as she fought through each day and night.

His voice was sweet beside her ear.

"Mama?" Sam whispered.

He hadn't called her 'mama' in ages. She was surprised by how gorgeous it sounded.

"Yeah Sam."

There was a pause as he managed to pull himself free and look into her eyes.

"You can call me sheriff if you want," he told her. "And Smush. If you want," he said again.

As if her heart could take any more good news. She smiled broadly, hardly daring to believe she'd been holding him so long. He was a big guy, after all. But she didn't want to put him down.

"It's over Smush," she said in a hushed voice. "It's over…he's okay…" closing her eyes. "He's gonna be okay…"

It was after several minutes of this goofy, fruitless beaming and hugging that Mary remembered Carolyn. She had to have hung up by now, so when Mary let Sam stand atop the toy box to grab her cell, she was shocked to find she was still there.

"We'll be there soon…" she wiped her eyes and Sam nodded positively feverishly from his post.

"Okay," Mary could hear the grin even through the speaker.

Even knowing what she'd been told before – about Marshall's low ability to articulate – she couldn't help wondering. It had been so long.

"Did he say anything?"

The smile preceded the letters this time.

"Just four words," Carolyn reported. "'Hi mom…'"

Mary grinned softly, her hand on Sam's shoulder as though to steady herself. And yet, how could she expect to be prepared for the final two?

"'Where's Mary?'"

Of greener grass, and four leaf clovers and sunshine bursts through the clouds; of fighting hard and waiting it out, of taking the dive in knowing the time is right. Mary wept boldly as the world righted itself again.

**A/N: It is my hope that the minor connection between Mary's flashback and Marshall's return to life is not too hard to parallel – the whole, 'when it's time, it's time' business. Those of you who have been kind enough to read the previous stories know that Mary, of course, did not have to be induced. She knew when the time was right or rather, Sam did. ;)**

**Anyway, I can't stop saying it but thank-you bunches for reviewing. Mary and Sam made it. :)**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Oh, I am so pleased by how much everybody enjoyed the last chapter – good news at last! And it's reunion time!**

XXX

Driving to the hospital at four A.M. was a blur. Mary wasn't used to toiling the streets of Albuquerque at such an hour and was bolstered to find that the lights simply changed themselves from red to green whenever her car approached. Sam thought this was thrilling and it added to his mile-a-minute chattering he was doing as he bounced around in the backseat, nearly tearing out of his seatbelt in his excitement. Mary thought it was lucky there were no other cars on the road, she was so jittery herself.

Lucky.

She and Sam had not even bothered to change clothes. Mary had on her classic stripes and thermal mix-and-match pajamas. Sam, who for some reason had felt the need to dress himself before bed, had put on navy and green plaid pants his mother had bought him, and a short-sleeved collared PJ top printed with rocket ships. He clashed horribly, and yet it was the most perfect combination Mary had ever seen.

Perfect.

She'd never run into Intensive Care so quickly, and yet it never seemed to take so long to get there. Hallway after hallway, turn after turn, up in the elevator. She carried Sam, which made her feel silly since this was the first time he actually _had_ seemed too big. But she wanted him to keep up – she wasn't going to slow down – and she couldn't leave him behind. She was fortunate he didn't seem to mind.

Fortunate.

When they finally reached the ward with its familiar hard grey chairs, couches and daunting double doors, it was to find Carolyn, Griffin, and Julian beaming brighter than any three stars in the stratosphere. An eruption of thrown arms, hugs, and kisses came to pass at Mary's and Sam's appearance. She wondered how long it had been since the ICU had seen this much excitement.

Carolyn was still streaming tears; Griffin and Julian looked slightly shell-shocked but there was no erasing their smiles. His grandmother smooched on Sam in excess; the uncles rumpled his hair and even pecked Mary's cheek as she flew into their embrace.

"Can I see him?" Mary breathed after she untangled herself, still supporting Sam on her hip. "Can I see him or are they…?"

"No-no…" Carolyn shook her head enthusiastically. "They kicked us out about twenty minutes ago to get his vitals but they just came out and said they were done for a little while…" she paused to take a breath. "Go-go – both of you go!"

"Okay…" Mary spared her a hurried nod before she scurried to the double doors and blew right through them.

Once they were in the back hallway, she thought it was the appropriate moment to let Sam down. But she hadn't banked on him having a sprint of his own and he took off running ahead of her.

Every fiber in her body told him to wait, to stop, to hang on until she could go with him, but she couldn't do it.

He was running so fast she thought he might slide and fall – he was wearing beat-up brown house-slippers that looked like Indian moccasins – and he did once. His feet flew sideways and he slipped in kind of a graceful hurdle on the linoleum but he pushed himself right back up and kept going.

"Sam, be careful!" she called as she jogged behind him. Then, thinking he might believe she was talking about running indoors she rectified, "Be gentle! Make sure you go in the right room!"

But she knew she could count on him and when he found the correct door, he yanked the handle and dashed inside.

Mary was still halfway down the hall when she heard his sweet little voice before the door eased shut.

"Dad-dad; I told mom you'd wake up! I told her you would!"

Mary smiled and, strangely enough, slowed down. Some peculiar force was holding her back; giving Sam just a second on his own. The craziest, out-of-left-field memory popped into her mind as she held back at a stroll.

"_I'm right – you're wrong. That is why I sing this song."_

For about the billionth 'first' that evening was one Mary had wished on for seven years.

Sam really was _both_ his parents. Plaid pants, printed top and all. Confidence and sweetness. Imagination meshed in grounded reality.

"I knew you would…I knew you would…" she heard him again just feet from the door.

But then he went silent and Mary allowed herself to slide in through the crack in the hatch he had left open.

And the earth melted away. Her son was lost in his father's arms; a perfect pair, face pressed into the fabric of his gown as he extended himself just past the side of his bed. Marshall's eyes were closed behind Sam's back, the hands that held him soft and tender. Sam was buried somewhere deep within, standing rooted to the spot gripping just as tight but just as gentle.

She couldn't interrupt this for anything in the world as she leaned on the frame and watched – minute after minute, moment after moment, relishing in the time they had to spare.

Finally, Sam stepped back, gazing at his dad, face etched in adoration.

"You knew it, huh?" Marshall's voice was barely a whisper as he relaxed back against the pillows.

"Yeah…" Sam was whispering now too. "I wasn't sure mom believed me, but I said…"

At the mention of 'mom' Marshall flicked his eyes upward at the exact same second Mary put two feet over the threshold.

Her heart had yet to suffer such a violent reaction in all her years on this planet. It was fireworks and pipe bombs – shooting stars and sirens. His eyes were glassy and there was something faded about him but it didn't matter. She saw the Marshall within; saw inside the blue his desperation had been matching her own. It felt so familiar to be back in-sync.

"Hi…" she murmured.

It was the simplest of greetings, but this didn't matter either. She didn't want to steal Sam's thunder, so she just reached over his head and grabbed Marshall's fingers which were lying atop the bedcovers.

He held them close, a grip of dear life, their arms still stretched above their son.

"Hi," he repeated hoarsely, and there was a hint of a smile somewhere beneath.

She let go and journeyed to the end of the bed to stand. It was worth it just to watch. To have his orbs looking back into hers.

"Dad, does your tummy hurt?" Sam asked, completely unaware of the interaction between his parents.

"Yeah…" he whispered. "But I got something to help with that," he jerked his head indistinctly at the IV bags to his left. "Medicine goes through the intravenous…"

"Mom told me about all that," Sam waved a dismissive hand.

More flicking of his eyes.

"Did she?"

"Uh-huh…" he nodded vigorously. "She told me all sorts of stuff while you were asleep. Like…"

"Sam…!" Mary interjected quickly, leaning a little forcefully onto the roll-top table at the end of the bed. "Dad's exhausted. We might leave the details for another day." Then she added, "Sheriff."

"How could he be _exhausted_?" he asked, dragging out the word. "He's been asleep for eleven days!"

And the gaze – it changed. It found his wife's in utter disbelief. Before she could read it correctly, he made himself speak again.

"Eleven days…?" there was the merest pinch of a question in there, of a misunderstanding.

Mary was startled. Had nobody told him? The inquiry didn't seem to bother Sam though, who chose not to wait for an answer.

"I got all sorts of stuff for my birthday, dad!" he enthused and Mary realized this might come as a surprise to Marshall as well; that he had missed the celebration of his son's seventh year. "I got a rifle, and a grappling hook, and these super awesome cowboy boots…"

Oh. _Now_ they were awesome.

"And Jesse drew me this picture of you and me and him and Peter and the cowboys were fighting the pirates, even though I _told_ Jesse about a jillion times that cowboys _couldn't_ fight pirates…"

Marshall reveled in it as much as Mary did, timeline forgotten for the moment.

"How is Jesse?" it was obvious he was fighting back a cough, trying not to upset his wounds.

His strength, it never ceased to amaze.

"Okay, I guess," Sam shrugged. "He said he wants to be a NASCAR driver for Halloween, which is sort of weird because we always dress together. I want to be Robin Hood, but not the Disney kind, even though I do want to wear the green tights…"

"You don't have to match," Mary found herself chiming in, even as she stayed in her spot. "It'll be good for you to go as something different."

"Oh, I know _that_," Sam claimed. "Who was Jesse gonna go as if I was Robin Hood? He couldn't be the Sheriff of Nottingham!"

"Not when Robin Hood was the outlaw…" Marshall breathed, so quietly Mary almost didn't hear.

A swap of professions. Sam the outlaw, Jesse the sheriff. Not happening.

"But I can't really decide if I want to carry my crossbow or my new hook if I'm going out to trick-or treat…"

Sam just prattled on and _on_, this endless stream of commentary. It didn't even matter if they responded to him. He was filling Marshall in on every single detail of the last eleven days, skillfully skating over the parts that included DNA and US Marshals and Mark – with Mary's help. His wife saw her husband wearing thin at the morning's pink light and she knew she couldn't hold herself behind much longer. Being here was enough – it would always be enough – but she wanted him. She needed him and she didn't trust herself in front of Sam.

"Bud…" she cut in just after he finished describing his tenth round of Mario Kart with Jesse.

The younger one turned, the elder just used his gaze.

"If he's gonna keep getting better, dad needs to get some more sleep," she fabricated, although true. "Will you go hang out with Grandma while I say goodnight?"

"It's _morning_!" Sam protested, even as he stood up from the chair he'd sunk into.

"Don't be smart," Mary said, even though she was grinning. "I'll be out soon, okay?"

Her words were becoming murky and unclear. Just watching so closely had done it – a father and his son.

"You remember the way?" she swallowed.

Sam nodded and Marshall reached out to clap his shoulder before he left.

"See you soon, sheriff," still hoarse, like sandpaper. "I love you."

"I love you too dad."

Simple. They made it so simple.

Mary locked in on him as he exited, as she watched his brunette waves disappear beneath the cracks in the door. It wasn't until she was sure it had closed that she zeroed in on the man in the bed before her.

It took her a moment, but then she was gone. Her strides were twice as long even as she fought not to run – across the room, into the chair, around his chest, his head falling limply into her shoulder.

The tears came quietly now, not nearly as messy and unattractive as they'd been at the house. Gentle rivers and streams sliding down her cheeks. But as he tucked into her, hearing him breathing in her ear, it made her complete. It was everything and more. More than everything.

"Mary…" he whispered.

One word brought on a little more of a cascade, a flood she couldn't stem, overwhelming she couldn't squelch with a tiny sob that escaped.

"It's okay…" were his sage words of wisdom as he heard this. "I'm okay…"

"You were not okay," she forced herself to speak and calm all at once and sat back, tucking her hair behind her ear so it wouldn't tumble over him. "You were not okay at all…"

"You're shaking…" he observed; even in his fatigue expressing concern.

So she was – her hands were trembling. She put them against her knees to steady them, noticing that she still wore her pajamas.

"How do you feel?" she brushed over his worries, forcing herself to get a grip and sweeping her hair behind once more.

"Awful, now you mention it…" he replied with a groan. "You think they could've kept me asleep while they got that tube out of my throat…"

"Marshall, this isn't funny," she said seriously. "It's…"

"Mary…" he whispered again, reaching for her hand, which she took at once. "I'm about to keel over back into dreamland here, but I can't yet…"

He coughed and winced, free hand on his stomach. It made her hurt to see his determination.

"What happened?"

She didn't want to – not right now – not at this moment. But she knew she would've wanted the same, and right away. She had after her own shooting.

"Why didn't anyone tell you?" she said first.

"Didn't seem to think…" he paused to take a breath and Mary rubbed his hand. "It was a good time."

Well, Mary was determined to give him whatever he wanted – whatever he needed.

"You were shot…"

"They did tell me _that_ much," he conceded.

"By some bastards lying in wait for your witness on the way home from Las Cruces…"

He nodded vaguely, "They catch them?"

"Yeah," she said. "In no time."

Not even pausing to take a breath, she pressed right on.

"The slug sliced your abdomen; clear through and out your back. They had to remove one of your kidneys and repair your bladder…"

"But…all this…?" he gestured blandly, as well as he could lying down. "The down-for-the-count routine…"

Mary shrugged, it aching a little to tell the story now. He stared at her and he looked sad – confused and upset.

"_Eleven_ days?" he whispered.

She ought to have known he'd be disconcerted, not just for her and Sam and the rest of his family, but for himself. It had to be extremely distressing not to recall almost two entire weeks of your life. And he could pretend but she knew. She knew he couldn't remember.

"It was your brain activity…" she whispered as kindly as she could. "They didn't think it was enough to sustain you; your levels weren't rising and they had you under sedation…" she shrugged, her mind feeling a bit cloudy now as she digested it all once more. "I can't remember all the details now…"

He tried to nod again and shut his eyes. She could tell he was in pain – about six different kinds of it.

"I can't…" he finally said in a low voice. "I just can't quite…"

"I know you can't remember," she cut across him, squeezing his fingers a little roughly and avoiding his dismayed eyes. "It's fine."

She really felt badly for him, which was a sensation she had not anticipated. So thrilled to have him up and talking – alive and going to make it – hadn't enabled her to think about it. It didn't say much for her, since she'd had a similar injury years ago and had felt much the same.

He wasn't looking at her and she could see how hard he was trying to concentrate, even just hours out of a black hole.

"Hey," she peered downward to catch his glance. "Stan was with you. He'll know a little more; that might help."

He bobbed his head again and winced as he tried to shift.

"Whatever they pumped into me isn't working very well…" he remarked, still trying to get comfortable, which really just made it worse. "I don't know how long these things take to kick in…"

"Here…" Mary stood and walked around the side of his bed to the window, where Griffin had been lounging in the chair the night before. A rumpled pillow in a light blue pillowcase was still in the seat and she grabbed it.

Standing behind Marshall now, certain that if any doctor were to walk in at this moment they would sue her for malpractice, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Can you roll onto your right at all?" she asked. "Take it slow…"

Careful to place her hands high on his back rather than low, she shifted him up a little more onto his side so he was facing the door. He grimaced a few times even though she couldn't quite see his face, but seemed all right.

"Here…" she repeated, leaning over him with the pillow. "Hold this against your stomach – not too hard – just to cushion it. It'll take the shock away a little bit."

He reached up to take it and did as she said. When he turned away from her again, she bent and kissed his temple, which earned her a more contented moan.

His eyes were shut when she made her way back to sit in front of him. No part of her wanted to leave him, but she couldn't imagine how tired he was, not to mention confused. When he heard her resume her seat, he flickered to life blearily, his eyes reduced to slits.

"Was Sam all right?" he whispered. "With all this?"

It was off his usual game of intellect, but Mary couldn't blame him.

"The sheriff is just Sam without you," she told him plainly.

Unfortunately, he was a little too fuzzy to fully grasp what she meant, so she watered it down.

"He's really missed you," she was honest. "It's been hard to see him, but he's spent the last three days trying to convince me you were coming back to us."

"So he mentioned…" eyes closed now, so Mary couldn't see the amusement.

"I really thought he was losing it," she admitted, and only to Marshall. "But being wrong isn't so bad."

He let a tiny grin escape at that moment, even if he didn't look at her. After a few moments though, Mary idly letting her fingers tousle his hair, he met her match with piercing blue. She halted her dance in his waves and waited.

"What about you?" softer than a whisper. "You okay?"

It was so unlike him to be so short with words, but when the cards were on the line, what could you do?

"Marshall…" she leaned in, inches from his face, just loving the look of him. "We have a thousand things to talk about when you're up and running. A lot's been happening the last eleven days."

Mark – fathers – jobs – everything.

"But I want to tell you when you can really hear it," she promised. "Rest. I'm going to make sure Sam got to your mom okay and then I'll be back to stay with you, all right?"

He was already halfway to sleep as she said it, but he nodded his understanding. He was too exhausted to fight it and she saw him sink into his pillows a little more freely. She hoped the meds had started working. She hated to think of him hurting.

She stood up slowly and the easy breathing through his nose convinced her he had already crashed out, so she made for the door, only to hear his voice.

"I saw your dad…"

The familiarity of the eyes – Sam's eyes. Marshall had known it was James.

"What?" she walked back over, not sure she'd heard correctly. "What'd you say?"

"Your dad…" he said in a misty voice, even through his closed lids. "I saw him…"

She _had_ understood, but it was preposterous.

"What?" she repeated, this time unable to keep the laugh out. He had to be a little delirious all doped up. "Saw him where?"

He swallowed without looking at her.

"Out there…"

All right. He was definitely on another planet now.

"Sure you did, doofus," she assured him genially, squeezing his shoulder. "You tell me all about it later."

He didn't answer this time and Mary convinced herself it was time to go, time to let him drift away to heal up. She kissed his forehead before she left, still pondering whatever had come out of his mouth – parting words. She wondered what fantasy world he'd fallen into that included her father. It was weird. He wasn't _her_, after all.

But even as she wandered the hall back to the waiting room and the adrenaline wore off, she found herself a little trembly and anxious, like she had a bad case of the flu. Not because of James, but because of everything she'd just hurtled through – he was back. Marshall was back and he was going to be okay. Why did she feel like crying, like the world was back upside-down? It made her angry and upset all at the same time.

When she returned to the waiting room, it was to find Sam on Carolyn's lap across the room, Griffin and Julian chattering away on cell phones. Marshall's mother and her grandson were having what looked to be a very cheerful conversation for five thirty in the morning and didn't even notice her return. There was a fifth figure in their party as well – one Mary had not expected to see so early in the day.

Stan bounded into her circle on the balls of his feet, looking extremely pleased.

"Inspector!" he called, approaching her at once but Mary was still a little funny and didn't hurry to join him. "Thought I'd stop in before heading to the office and I hear its good news at last!"

She managed to nod and feed him a weak smile, but she'd put a hand to the wall to steady herself and the combination of the three didn't escape Stan's notice.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Something go wrong?"

"No…" she shook her head, a little hunched over now. "No – everything's fine. Marshall's fine…"

This obviously didn't answer her boss' inquiry, who was still looking concerned and skeptical. Mary transferred one hand off the wall to her head, only to find Stan had more observations to share.

"You're shaking sweetheart…"

Endearment.

"Come here…come sit down…"

She was going to have to unless she wanted to pass out, so she allowed Stan to guide her over to some chairs away from the Mann's and her son. Stan patted her back gently once they were side-by-side and she felt herself calm a little – at least physically. The rest of her was another story.

"Take a breath, kiddo…" he advised. "Everything's okay. You're out of the woods."

But they had very nearly not been, and that was what was coming back in flashes and bursts of colors. And a few stray tears as well.

"I just…" a few more slipped, Stan's hands soothing on her back. "I just…"

She felt terrible admitting it now, but it was the source of her unhappiness at present.

"I really thought he was going to die…"

Fortunately, Stan got it.

"I know," he said. "You're a realist, Mary. It's a blessing and a curse."

She wanted to argue, but it wouldn't have made any difference. He was right.

"But he didn't die," her boss reminded her. "He's here – he's here with you and Sam and you're gonna help bring him home."

Home. That was all that mattered. That they were going home.

**A/N: Our favorite duo is back together again! There's a chunk of chapters to come, but it'll be winding up not too much longer.**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Little bit of a different look for this chapter…needed some progression of time…**

XXX

Mary had been bound and determined to go the distance with Marshall from that first plane ride seven years before to a Kansas countryside filled with both boundless opportunities and endless heartbreaks of a family that may not have accepted her, of a friend who might not have wanted her when she'd let him down so many times before. From that moment onward, she had vowed to do it right and now was no exception.

So she stayed – she was there. For every hurdle, every stride, and every bound no matter how small. She was there to bring him home.

She was there on Monday when they undressed his wounds for the first time.

She awaited it with little trepidation, having formed enough pictures and memories in her mind of her own scars from her shooting. It had been nasty and disconcerting at the time, but she was pretty sure she remembered it well and could handle it.

So, when they put Marshall on his side, facing the window, to look at both holes she just made jokes.

"I wouldn't be so cocky," she joshed from behind him while the nurse started to peel the tape from his back.

"You don't think my threshold is up to par?" he was a little breathless from holding himself upright.

"I'm just saying," his wife shook her head; two sides of the tape removed now. "They're basically going to grope your innards over there and it's not gonna feel good."

"If you can handle it; I can handle it…" he decided.

Mary laughed ruefully until the nurse pulled the gauze away completely and Doctor Seager, now stationed to her right, eyed the wound for abnormalities.

All Mary could do was stare. Could she have forgotten how bad her own had been? Was this really worse? Had she idealized things somehow? It looked awful – he was already stitched shut but the mark was raw red and large, as though it had been grafted, but she wasn't sure it had been. It was so brightly crimson it looked as though it could start bleeding again at a moment's notice and the area surrounding the gash was severely bruised in gruesome shades of yellow and purple.

Her eyes were wide as Doctor Seager placed his fingers around the area without really touching, but she had her mouth part-way open as Marshall spoke from the other side.

"Hmm…tickling…" he observed at the touch of the fingers. "Writhing and twisting over here…"

Mary knew she was supposed to play along, to joke back, but she couldn't form the words. Her mouth had gone dry as she swallowed, willing herself not to burst into tears.

"Mare?" he called.

She knew he was trying to turn to see her face, but he couldn't stationed on the bed but evidently the inability to read her mind had not left him.

"Mare, I'm sure yours looked just the same…" he reminded her. "Don't let it upset you."

It wasn't right to make him comfort her – this wasn't _about_ her. So she shook her head and saved face.

"I'm not upset," she said in a falsely bright voice. "How we looking doc?"

"Good," he reported as the nurse swooped back in with a fresh patch of gauze. "It's healing well. We keep it covered and keep an eye on those stitches to make sure they don't get popped or infected and it should smooth over fine…"

That was a strange way to put it, Mary thought, since he would have scars both front and back, but chose to ignore it while the woman beside her secured her tape on all four sides. As Doctor Seager proceeded to Marshall's other side to check his entrance wound, Mary clapped him roughly on his bare back to show she was okay and went to join him.

"One down…" he remarked; Mary dragged Griffin's vacated chair over to sit in front of his face, not to be in the way of the doctor.

He was pale, still hoarse, and beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead from the stamina he had to expend holding himself upright. But he was still trying to smile.

"Just wait," she tried to taunt him, but found the teasing they'd been doing suddenly made her nervous.

She had doubted the scrutinizing of his exit spot would hurt much; there was nothing to check but the sutures. The front was a different story and she didn't want him in any more pain.

"You okay?" he said quietly, distracting them both momentarily while they worked on uncovering his abdomen.

"Of course I'm okay," she stated boldly. "I'm not the one being gutted like a fish."

"Flattering…" he decided with an exhale. "Very. In fact, I think…"

But it was obvious they'd hit the spot. Mary could practically feel the sear herself when the team pressed their fingers into the area around the wound – it was burning and stinging and aching all at dangerous levels, a whirlwind of blinding pain and Marshall gasped, clearly against his will. His eyes fell shut and he started shaking, unable to stay upright for much longer. Mary stood and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The other found his fingers and he flailed a little inaccurately at first inside her palm, but then clutched and hung on.

"This one looks good too Marshall…" Doctor Seager reported once they were through and was securing everything again. "Gonna have to keep watching it, but I'm optimistic."

Neither one of them was really listening anymore. Mary had been distressed to see that Marshall had actually sprung a tear or two, purely out of shock she was sure, but it still upset her. He obviously wasn't even aware it had happened and was breathing hard, his tolerance for pain not exactly at a high.

Once the so-called professionals had left them alone and Marshall was lying flat once more, Mary brushed the hair from his forehead and looked into his glassy eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked calmly.

"Yeah…" he managed in a low voice. "You weren't kidding…"

"Me?" she tried to look innocent. "I never kid."

"How could I forget my brutally honest wife?" he smiled tiredly.

And then he slept.

She was there on Tuesday after Marshall had been told how he'd have to adjust to life with one kidney.

Sitting at his bedside, she tried to calm his worries, not having anticipated that it would bother him quite so much.

"Marshall, it's not like it's a disability," she rationalized. "You don't get a handicap sticker or anything."

"I know," he sighed. "But the remaining kidney actually gets bigger to compensate for losing the other? I had no idea that happened."

Mary had to admit, this surprised her. She thought Marshall knew everything about everything. She reminded herself it was entirely possible he _had_ already known this, but couldn't pull the information out in his state.

"Balloons up," Mary mused. "I wonder if we can get insurance for twenty-five percent off, like a supersize deal."

Marshall scowled, set on being disgruntled. Mary was pretty sure she understood why though. One section of the doctor's spiel on kidneys had reached both of them.

"They tell you to avoid contact sports and activities with a high collision rate," he reminded her in a quiet voice. "So you don't damage the remaining kidney."

Before Mary could acknowledge that she'd heard this, he went right on.

"Some branches of the military and the fire department won't even take you if you've just got a single…"

"Stan won't care," she cut in abruptly, leaning forward onto her knees to be closer to him. "He won't."

Still, this was an uncomfortable subject. She hadn't told Marshall everything she claimed had gone on in his little 'vacation' because she was too wrapped in his recovery – not that he was pending as Sam's legal father, or that they were seriously going to have to discuss their positions at the Marshal Service to keep their son from living in fear.

"It's not a matter of whether he cares or not," Marshall yawned, clearly trying to stay up and fight but too tired to do so. "If it's policy then I can't…"

"Don't do this right now," Mary advised. "Just don't."

She meant _she_ didn't want to do this right now but fortunately, he seemed to agree.

And then he slept.

She was there on Wednesday when it rained, but the color seemed to return to Marshall's cheeks as they played crappy card games and Sam sat at the foot of the bed drawing pictures on his Magna doodle.

"Ah…I love the smell of victory in the evening…" Marshall breathed as he bested Mary once again.

"And hero sandwiches at lunchtime!" Sam chimed in without looking up.

"Right you are, sheriff," Marshall cheered, holding his hand out which Sam reached up to smack in a high five.

"Humph," was Mary's response as she shuffled the deck.

Really, for someone who hated to lose, she could've gotten knocked a thousand times and she wouldn't have cared. Marshall was sitting up today against his pillows – a paramount triumph of its own.

"Somebody's being a poor sport…" Marshall taunted, wiggling his eyebrows boyishly.

Seriously. She could've jumped him, then and there, if not for Sam.

"Don't worry mom," Sam was drawing in roads now, tongue poking out the side of his mouth. "I won't call you loser."

"I think you just did," his mother reminded him, but he just giggled.

"Dad look…" Sam flipped his board around, dotted in spots of grey against white, big and bold strokes. "I drew a war scene…"

"Color me surprise," his father commented, but the son didn't notice in the slightest.

"Cowboys and Indians," Sam continued, pointing out the figures with his finger.

"India-Indians or Native-American Indians?" Marshall wanted to know.

Mary rolled her eyes, but it was a reflex she had to stop. She had to bathe in it, bask in the glory of the three of them as one. How could she be exasperated when they'd almost lost this?

"Which is which again?" Sam asked.

Marshall went into a detailed description while Mary tossed her deck back and forth, watching her son focused in rapt attention.

"Native-American Indians," he decided. "See their feathers?"

"A very good detail," Marshall remarked. "I like that cowboy's bandanna…"

"He has the kind of rifle I got for my birthday…" Sam told him. "I really wish you could see it," now he pouted a little. "But…"

"The ICU kind of frowns on bringing weaponry through the double doors," Mary interjected, to which her husband nodded his understanding.

After Sam got through his full-on description of the make-believe scene on the Magna doodle, Marshall was looking a little wiped and Mary knew it was about time to get Sam home and ready for bed.

"Say goodnight you two," she advised as she stood up. "Time to turn in."

And then he slept.

She was there on Thursday – and having a heart attack – when she walked into the room to find Marshall on the floor by the window, trembling with his legs stretched out.

She raced over, intending to tear the roof down to figure out why he had been left in this state when he was too vulnerable to help himself.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, a little more callous than she meant to since she wasn't angry with _him_. "What are you doing on the ground?"

She knelt in front of him and touched his knee. He was in his own pajamas now, pants a little low to be mindful of his stitches.

"Did you fall?" she pressed.

"No…" he shook his head. "I was fine – really I was," he assured her. "I just ran out…had to sit down," he murmured breathlessly. "I just got lost in my own thoughts…"

"What were you doing up in the first place?" Mary wanted to know. "You're not supposed to be standing unless someone is with you."

"You could give mom a run for her money on this mother-hen business," he joked, but Mary wasn't amused.

"You jackass," she bashed him out of worry. "You could get hurt!"

"I'm already hurt," he reminded her.

"You could hurt yourself worse!" her voice climbed several octaves as the tears came to her eyes, and that made her mad.

Unfortunately, this was also the part of her little bout of hysteria that Marshall noticed – the wetness that didn't even spill over. He didn't miss a thing.

"Babe, I'm sorry," he said gently, taking his turn at touching her bended knee. "You're right."

For the first time in eons, but even so. With a sigh, she sunk into a criss-cross position between his splayed legs like they were going to roll a ball back and forth.

"And I really shouldn't have joked," Marshall continued. "Because the thoughts I got lost _in_ were about you…"

She fed him a bewildered look before he went on.

"You and Sam," he clarified. "What you two must've gone through here on the other side while I was…"

He cleared his throat, a bad cover-up, but he didn't really need to say the words. Mary, although she'd been avoiding it for four days now, had yet to bring up the life-altering plans she'd made for he and Sam as well as their future in law enforcement. But she just wasn't ready yet. He was starting to get better – he was _finally_ starting to get better – and she wanted to stay in this bizarre, weepy honeymoon stage for as long as she could.

"Marshall, we managed…" she said in a quiet voice that was not entirely convincing.

"I don't doubt it," he said. "But this hell I put you both in…"

"It wasn't your fault," she interrupted sharply. "It wasn't. I don't want to hear it. Don't say it," she was very firm.

"I'm not allowed a little guilt?" he looked slightly hurt.

"Not until you regain your memory and figure out that this _wasn't your fault_ and it's idiotic for you to think otherwise…"

"Did _you_ blame yourself?" he eased in edgewise in an eerily soft voice.

She really should've seen it coming – she really should have. But she'd been thrown for a loop today already. And she wasn't sure she was in the mood to lie. The best she could do was defend her position.

"That's different," was her beginning. "I'm your partner. I protect you; you don't protect yourself…"

"Obviously," he chuckled bitterly.

Uh-oh.

"Marshall, that's not what I meant…" she was almost begging. It was hard, here on the floor.

"I know, Mare," he conceded. "It's just really hard to work it all out right now. My mind isn't…" he shook his head as though to clear it. "It's just not…"

He didn't finish his sentence as Mary crawled across to him and put an arm around his back, anchoring him to help him stand up. He winced a few times with the rise, even groaned once or twice, but leaned on Mary for support in the full ascent. They hobbled to the bed together. She could feel in his bones how weak he was.

But when he got to talking about his mind – his brain – she couldn't help feeling that they had been so close to having a Marshall that wasn't _really_ Marshall anymore.

She kissed him – full on the mouth – once he faded into the pillows.

And then he slept.

And she was there on Friday as the week came to its impending close – as the tide from Kansas rained its way into Mesa Regional's Intensive Care.

Griffin, Julian, and Carolyn were banking over two weeks time in Albuquerque and were joined before their departure back to the homeland by wives, sons, and daughters.

Seventeen-year-old Sophie and Sarah; gorgeous, tall, lean and long with hair in striking shades of rich brunette.

Daniel at sixteen, rugged and handsome, spending his time trying to be cool, failing miserably at that, but succeeding brilliantly at pleasing Sam.

Quinn, a stringy thirteen, caught in limbo between a boy and a man, voice cracking at octaves as he chatted animatedly with relative after relative.

And sweet, sensitive, buyout Claire, a beautiful eleven years of age. She wore jeans, a purple ruffled top and a royal blue baseball cap over her dark blonde hair, straight and shiny and past her shoulders. She reminded Mary of Sam in her perfect combination of class and sass.

Joined by Connie and Kim who floated at the edges, the thirteen of them shattered the limits of the ICU in visitor occupancy – even more so when they were joined by Stan, Jinx, Brandi, Peter, and Jesse. Even when Mary flashed her badge it only got them twenty minutes of their party before they had to pack it in and move it home. Peter, kind as always, suggested his house – bigger than Mary's to celebrate the return of the glue that held them as one.

She was just sad Marshall himself was going to miss it, and requested time alone with he and Sam as everybody else moved back to the waiting room.

"Try not to think about all the fun you're missing," she teased, a little tired for festivities but willing to make the effort.

If not for her, than for Sam.

Deep in his covers, Marshall smiled. He was tired too.

"I'll just see it in my dreams tonight," he decided, corny as ever.

This took Mary back to his declaration about her father – something she hadn't forgotten.

"You do that," she rumpled his hair. "Smush and I will be back in the morning."

"Okay…" he closed his eyes.

"I'll have some cake for you dad," Sam said from his spot standing on front of Mary. "A really big piece."

"Thanks sheriff," the father said quietly. "I'm counting on you."

You could always depend on that.

"See you in the morning," Mary repeated, leaning over to kiss him but when she pulled away he was hanging onto her, one hand gripping her neck.

"What?" she said quietly.

"Can we talk tomorrow?" he posed in a whisper, cautious of Sam. "Just you and me?"

She'd put it off long enough. He was too smart not to have noticed.

"Yeah," she promised. "Definitely."

"Good," he tried another smile. "I love you."

And then he slept. To wake another day.

**A/N: I know not much happened in this one, but I needed to get Marshall up and moving around. Thanks again, so-so much, for the reviews. You all make me smile.**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Marshall's about to be clued in!**

XXX

Mary wasn't sure, exactly, why she was nervous about talking to Marshall. He'd be upset about Sam's fear surrounding their employment, but he was rational and would likely figure something out. And there was nothing to be worried about concerning the adoption. It was a formality, at best.

She hadn't convinced herself of that the first time.

Still, as she sat at his bedside trying to prepare herself for the conversation, there was nagging doubt lingering in the rear of her mind. Something about it made her feel prickly and awkward, but she couldn't discern why.

As it was Saturday, Sam didn't have school and was enjoying the weekend blast with his cousins at Peter's place before they all made the departure back to Kansas the next day – Carolyn, Griffin, Julian, and all.

"You said a lot happened while I was…" Marshall began, considering carefully. "Under."

He was sitting up against the pillows, looking marginally healthy. He was still very pale and tired easily but he'd been given a lot of pain meds for the afternoon, which was keeping him going.

"But you haven't told me what," he didn't sound accusatory, merely wanting to get to the root of the issue.

"I know…" Mary sighed, wringing her hands together. "It wasn't like I was trying to keep it from you I just thought…you were recovering so well…"

"Mare, I understand," he said gently. "But I'm feeling better. I'd really like to know what was going on. It seemed important when you first brought it up."

"Yeah…" she muttered under her breath, not meeting his eyes.

Was this why she felt badly? Because she'd attempted to keep things under wraps?

"Babe…" he touched her leg, forcing her to look at him. "I can tell you're upset. If it was nothing you would've said something day one. It's definitely something…"

"It's two something's, actually," she interrupted before he could finish his thought.

Marshall paused, pulling his hand off her leg, a little taken aback she had thrown herself into the situation so abruptly. It was clear, however, that he was willing to take it and extended his palm, as though to indicate that she had the floor.

Mary sighed again, but there was no point in holding off any longer.

"Marshall…I know Sam's been talking non-stop about how he was so sure you were going to wake up…"

"Yeah?" he inquired softly.

"But…before he had that dream or whatever the hell it was…"

She made herself face him, to stare into his big blue eyes that were looking weary but determined all at the same time.

"He was really in a bad way," she finished lamely, which was not really what she meant to say but it got the point across, so she supposed it didn't really matter.

"What do you mean?" he furrowed his brow and frowned. "Bad how?"

Now she didn't want to continue. He looked alarmed already – distressed. She'd made him worry about his child, like there was something wrong with him, like he'd done something that had caused this shift in mood. Never mind the fact that he'd been powerless to stop it.

"Marshall, I'm no expert, but I'm not sure this was the typical reaction to the kind of thing that happened to you…" she started to explain. "I'd expect him to be upset; it isn't that…"

"So what is it?" he pressed urgently, and Mary knew she had to get on with it.

Looking straight at him, she presented her husband with the cold, hard truth.

"He was so terrified that somebody was going to shoot me that I told him I wouldn't go to work anymore."

Even though she'd wanted to dole out the facts, the statement that spilled from her lips wasn't the one she had planned. It was so blunt and so forceful. Surely she could've been a little more delicate. Marshall's face certainly convinced her of that and at the same time, what she'd said wasn't entirely true. She'd kept working – just not in the field.

"You did what?" Marshall whispered in a hushed voice before she could go on. "How scared was he?"

"Scared," Mary admitted with another sigh, shifting in her chair. "I told Stan – I could barely leave the house. He had nightmares, he wanted to go to work _with_ me…" she shook her head as it all came back. "His birthday party was a mess and so was he."

She watched her husband for his reaction and hated to see that he was shaking his head as well, obviously distraught by the news. Sam was a tough kid and it was apparent that Marshall wasn't computing in trying to picture him a total basket case.

"Marshall, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with how he felt…" Mary clarified. "I'm just…" she gazed at him, trying to glean a response just from his features. "I just really don't know how we're going to manage."

She forced herself to speak the words, to pose the question that meant ending what had for so many years practically defined her entire existence.

"Can we really do this anymore?" she whispered.

Marshall knew what 'this' was – she didn't need to spell it out. Federal United States Marshals, just as Sam himself had shouted.

After a few moments of silence, Marshall clearly pondering everything she'd just told him, it was his turn to ask questions.

"When you say you weren't going to work…?" he inquired skeptically. "Do you mean _at all?_ How has Stan been handling that?"

"Well, he made do for the first week or so after you were shot," Mary explained. "I started going back after I explained to Sam that I'd be in an office where nobody could hurt me. I tried to make him understand it was like the office Peter goes to; that nothing was going to happen to me…"

"And he was okay with that?" Marshall asked.

"He seemed to be," she replied. "It was around the same time he started thinking you were about to spring to life, so it's hard to say."

Marshall was unable to stop the tiny grin from escaping – reveling in his son's faith in him. But after a minute or two, the smile seemed to change, to shift into another realm. He gazed at Mary, eyes holding a lingering admiration and she was hard-pressed to figure out what this was about until he spoke up.

"Mare, you love your job," he murmured, still with that lovesick stare on his face. "That you would up and quit just because…"

"There is no 'just because' about this!" she exploded, annoyed at the way he was making her actions seem somehow noble. "You were dying! I _thought_ you were _dying_! What was I supposed to do?"

Marshall was visibly startled by the way she had flown off the handle, but she couldn't seem to shut up.

"He had fallen somewhere I couldn't catch him…" she was about to cry as she ranted and raved. "I could not pull him out! The only way to make him…" she gestured wildly as the phrase sprung to her lips. "_Him_ again was to swear he wasn't going to lose me too!"

She was breathing hard, a few well-accustomed tears leaking out and onto her cheeks. Marshall extended a few fingers and brushed them away; she felt sick and shaky with the admission. She wasn't sure if it was all the pent-up adrenaline she'd been feeling before sneaking in, or what.

"It's okay…" he whispered as she got herself under control. "I didn't mean to make it seem…" he shrugged as she sniffled. "I don't know…"

Mary knew he hadn't meant it the way she'd taken it, but he'd obviously hit a nerve.

"I just meant…" he hurried to rectify, wiping away the last of the tears. "You're a mother, Mary. All you do is look for what you're doing wrong when it comes to Sam, but here's the proof you've figured it out," he decided. "You gave up something you live for," he stared at her. "For him."

"But can I keep doing that?" she asked without even stopping to think about it. "Can either one of us?"

"Well…" Marshall suddenly sounded businesslike and it occurred to Mary that their roles had switched without her even realizing it.

He was comforting and she was a wreck. They were, however muddily, back in action.

"_I'm_ not going to be able to go back for awhile anyway…" he lamented. "You were in the hospital six weeks after you got shot, and I don't imagine that once I get out I'll be jumping at a chance in the field like someone else I know…"

She smirked, but there was something bigger behind that statement.

"You don't want to go back?" she whispered, her eyes halfway between his and the bedspread.

"I don't know," he admitted, quicker than she'd expected. "I really don't."

"Why?" she had to know.

"Mary, honestly…" he looked pleading now, like he was yearning for her understanding. "When I see what this has done to you – what it's done to Sam and my mother and the rest of my family…"

"Marshall, that's no reason to give up something you love!" she burst, throwing up her hands.

"It was reason enough for you," he said quietly.

He had her there. When push came to shove, she'd put Sam before her work in WITSEC. She'd never thought twice about it, but here and now it seemed so different. Now that everything was okay – now that Marshall was going to survive.

"You're my partner," she reminded him, wondering how she would've fared with a decision like this years before, when they hadn't been married. "I don't want another partner."

He leaned over and kissed her – deep and full, lost in the fact that they were able to do this at all. The feel of his lips pressed with hers – it was a silly schoolgirl crush, butterflies in her belly, glitter dusting her heart. Not that she would _ever_ say that out loud.

When he slipped away and looked at her, he was very serious.

"You're my partner whether I sit across that desk from you or not," he said.

It might've been true, but it still hurt a little. She couldn't imagine riding the waves with someone else. It had always been the two of them, Stan the less-than-bumbling sidekick. It was the life she'd lived too long to count. Even when Sam had come along, she had fought like hell to hang onto something constant and this was it. She wasn't ready for it to go away.

"We can talk to Sam…" she murmured as he sat back. "Soon. Who knows?" she dared to hope. "You think he'll even care now that you're better?"

"I think he might," Marshall said acutely.

Mary thought he might too.

"But…let's leave this one for now," he decided abruptly. "We won't have to make choices until I'm feeling fitter anyway…"

There was fact in this; Mary knew it.

"You said there were 'two something's' as I recall," now he sounded more like himself. "What's the second monumental moment I missed during my break from civilization?"

Mary still sort of wished he wouldn't joke, not when the circumstances had been so dire but he knew her well and was trying to deflect something emotional with humor. Normally, it was her life blood.

At the same time, she didn't feel like revealing 'the second something' so much anymore. She was slightly spent from the first unveiling.

"You sure you're up to this today?" she couldn't resist asking, more for herself than for him.

"I am positive," he nodded confidently. "Let's hear it."

Mary wasn't even sure where to begin or how to go about this. She couldn't just blurt it out as she'd done before. In some ways, the issue was much more sensitive – of an entirely different nature.

"Marshall…understand something here…" she nudged her chair even closer to the bed. "I felt like a helpless, useless, worthless shell when this happened to you. I had to act. I had to…"

"Mary," he interrupted sharply, sounding both apprehensive and politely amused. "What'd you do?"

She wasn't sure why she felt the need to defend herself straight out of the box. She'd done the right thing – she stood by it. She had no regrets.

"If you had died…" she whispered, her throat feeling a little tight now. "I wanted to make every effort to have proof of what you mean to me – to me and to Sam."

Saying the words out loud was a little bit strange. It was exactly how she'd felt, but it wasn't a sensation she generally articulated.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" Marshall was bewildered.

It was now or never – there was no more beating around the bush to be done and she was lucky that Marshall wasn't like her in that she wanted facts at every single moment, no hem-and-haw about it.

"Marshall, I called Mark," she said simply. And before he could ask, "I wanted to make you Sam's adoptive father."

He didn't even _try_ to hide the stunned disbelief written all across his face. He wore it all on his sleeve, all out in the open. He was shaking his head again, like the gesture might help his comprehension.

"Why?" he whispered. "You _asked_ Mark to do that? Mary, a bunch of paperwork doesn't make any difference…"

This was a view she hadn't really calculated, but she stood her ground.

"It does to me!" her voice rose a little and she backed off. "It does because it's official! It's there in black and white! It's nothing that can be disputed!"

"All right, all right…" Marshall was a little disgruntled with the way she was getting worked up, but not through with it. "Mark agreed to this? Why would he do that?"

And she'd thought what had come _before_ was going to be the hard part.

"He had his conditions…" she admitted, a little evasive now.

"Like what?" Marshall was quick and obviously irritated.

It was the bite to his voice that was throwing her and making her angry all at once. She'd done this for him – why wasn't he more appreciative? Was it because she'd evidently asked Mark for the favor of the century when he'd already granted her that once? They generally kept things between the two of them; Marshall rarely got involved unless he had to, and this was living proof.

"What's your problem?" she spat, hardly daring to believe they were arguing. "Do you think I did this just to piss Mark off?"

"No…" Marshall sighed, and softened his approach a little. "Mary, I'm just saying; this is a lot to ask of someone…"

"I know that," she tried to dial it down as well. "I do."

Marshall seemed a little relieved to hear that and nodded, determined not to get riled up another time. Mary didn't need him injuring himself or anything so dramatic along with everything else. After a few moments of silence, she picked up the thread.

"I'm sorry…" she said in a low voice that didn't quite conceal her hurt. "I'm sorry…you're right; it was stupid…"

"No…no, it wasn't…" Marshall switched tactics, obviously feeling badly he'd stomped on her gesture and she moved even closer to him so his hand fit on her shoulder. "It was sweet of you. I should've said so."

"Marshall, I don't need to be told I'm sweet…" she rolled her eyes. "It's humiliating."

Some things never changed – like Marshall's obliging chuckle.

"So tell me," he continued. "If you're on the fast track to making this a reality, what are the terms?"

Oh no. She really didn't want to do this now, even if she was in way too deep to back up. How had she not seen this coming a mile away? He was going to be devastated to find out Sam knew he wasn't his biological father, even though Sam didn't give a damn and didn't seem likely to anytime soon.

"Marshall…"

The tears came. She had messed everything up, including her emotions. She had yet to swing her cycle back in the correct rotation and was still crying at the oddest, most bizarre places.

"Mare, what?" he peered low to catch her eye, trying to be gentle. "Just tell me…"

"Marshall, he knows…"

"Who? What do they know?" he shook his head.

"Sam…" she stared at him, swimmy and guilty and stupid.

He just looked back, and Mary let it go.

"He knows that Mark is really is father," she whispered. "Mark said you could adopt him if I told Sam the truth."

There weren't enough words in the English language to describe the look on Marshall's face. Confusion and disbelief, disillusioned, sad and tired and left-out. No matter what the circumstances, he'd been stripped of some strange right he had once possessed – the ability to have a little boy believe he was his daddy. The ability to kid yourself into making a child your own and just the same, nobody did acceptance better than Marshall. Sam was his son – he would always be his son. But they'd lived in a blissful fantasy for seven years where genes and biology never came into play. Nothing took it back now.

"I'm…" he finally managed incoherently.

Mary rubbed his back, wanting him to know she was there, even that she was sorry if this was not the grand gift she'd anticipated.

"Was he upset?" he whirled to look at her.

"No," she said honestly. "He was fine. Marshall…" she clapped his back then for reinforcement. "He _doesn't_ care. _You're_ his father. That's all he knows."

"But he…" Marshall hadn't expected to hear that. "Does he really…?" he gestured blandly, indistinctly. "Understand?"

Mary nodded; a surge of pride firing through her that she had managed at least that much by herself. Sam _did_ get it, in the strange and convoluted way she'd delivered it to him.

"You should hear him spouting about DNA and what it does and doesn't do."

He managed a light chuckle then, but she could tell by his eyes that he was sleepy as well as feeling just a little excluded. She couldn't help that, but she did understand.

"Sounds like you had it under control," he whispered chivalrously, trying to cover his hurt.

Mary put her arm around his shoulders so they were side-by-side, resting her temple against his and stroking his arm on the other side. She could feel him go limp next to her, which convinced her the gesture had been all the more necessary.

"There's not _one part of me_ that doesn't wish you'd been there," she promised. "It wasn't how I imagined it happening at all, but its part of him. Mark did us a favor, in some ways."

"In more than one way," Marshall admitted and Mary squeezed him in closer.

After an inordinate silence, a pause that never ended where Mary didn't turn her face to his but continued to hold him as long as he let her, Marshall found his voice again.

"He really doesn't care?"

"No," she was truthful again. "I told him nothing's going to change, and it's not."

"Yeah…" he murmured. "Yeah…"

She turned the slightest inch and kissed his temple. She saw his eyes shut with the contact, saw him sink into submission and acceptance. He was a good man. The best she knew.

"Thank-you," he finally said politely and she sat back in her chair to see him properly. "It is nice…" he conceded. "To know it'll be official…"

"Once you're up to signing and going through all the legalities," Mary reminded him. "Yeah."

He nodded then, trying to smile. Part of it was forced, but part of it wasn't. Part of him was moved – touched. One day, it would be all of him.

"Marshall, I'm still not even sure what made me do it…" she diverted slightly, wanting to explain. "He was just talking about…how you and I have different last names…" she couldn't even remember now. "Something just clicked…it was his birthday – his birthday – and you'd been gunned down just two days before…"

"Two days…" Marshall contemplated, furrowing his brow in thought. "Two days…before his seventh birthday?"

Mary wasn't processing, too caught up in trying to justify her actions.

"Right," she shrugged.

But the way he was looking at her and his words from the night he'd come back to them floated into her mind.

"_I saw your dad…"_

She just met his eyes, but something had clicked for him as well. He understood – two days before a seventh birthday.

"God, I didn't even think about that," he said in a hushed voice.

Mary tried to shrug again, but he wasn't buying it.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he told her.

She smiled then and rumpled his hair.

"I've missed you, doofus. More than I _ever_ missed James."

She said the words they'd been dancing around and she saw the shift. He was touched, not just by that, but by it all. Mary had heard of coming full circle, but this didn't feel quite the same. She was encompassed, center ring, pressed in on from all sides and the pressure was warmest when she was with Marshall and Sam.

In that moment, she knew she didn't care what he'd seen or if it had been real. She'd claimed it had happened years before, but James didn't matter. He truly was 'out there' and there he could remain. Marshall, whether he said so or not, had chosen to return – something James had never done.

And her husband, mind as sharp as ever, knew just what she did.

"I missed you too, cowgirl."

**A/N: Thanks so much for continuing to read and review day after day. I can always count on you guys to pick me up with all your kind words! I'm going to miss it terribly because there are only two chapters left (well, one chapter plus an epilogue.) :(**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Believe me, loyal reviewers; I don't want this to end either!**

XXX

It was almost fascinating how quickly a week could go when things soared to the clouds rather than took a serious nosedive. Before Mary knew it, it was Sunday again and almost seven days had passed since Marshall had joined the world of living.

Halloween was just six days away and Sam was raving about his Robin Hood costume about as much as Jesse was basking in his NASCAR one. Neither one could wait to hit the streets of New Mexico and charm all the neighbors. The weather had turned cooler – breezy and grey at times and the trees were at a stalemate. Dozens upon dozens of leaves in shades of orange and brown littered the lawns and sidewalks, but some hung onto their branches, refusing to fall as the sun persisted in the rare warm afternoons.

Sunday evening consisted of a second and final gathering in Marshall's hospital room while Carolyn, Griffin, and Julian as well as their wives and children said their goodbyes to Marshall. The men had held off at work long enough and Carolyn decided it was about time to be getting home as well. Their party was joined by Brandi and Jesse, Peter and Jinx absent this go around.

Even Mary, who usually didn't care for large groups of people, couldn't help feeling warm and pleasantly compressed by all the family. Sam and Jesse sat on the floor with Daniel and Quinn on the door-side of the bed; playing some board game they called 'Risk' which detailed a much earlier map of the entire world. It looked way too complicated for the younger boys, but Sam seemed to be catching on. Jesse, Mary was a little sad to see, looked totally lost and she leaned over and whispered for Daniel to give him some help.

"You might have to assist the little blonde boy, Dan…" she hissed, stretching from her spot at Marshall's bedside. "Do me a solid, all right?"

She lifted her fist for him to pound, which he did, although he didn't neglect a roll of his eyes.

"He's got almost all of Australia," Daniel reported so the others couldn't hear. "He's not as bad off as you think…"

"What the hell is this game?" Mary asked, turning her chair so she could see.

"Risk," he said promptly, which she already knew.

Meanwhile, Quinn was giving Sam some pointers but he clearly had his own ideas.

"I want to attack Greenland!" he declared, no matter how Quinn tried to dissuade him. "Why can't I?"

"You _could_…" Quinn conceded. "But you only have three men Sam. Jesse has five and you could only use one die…"

"You actually understand this shit?" Mary asked of Daniel, not afraid about swearing around him anymore. He was sixteen. He heard all that and worse every day.

"It's not that hard once you get the hang of it," he said. "You get designated countries based on those cards…" he pointed. "And you place a certain number of armies…" he indicated the little figurines; soldiers, horses, and cannons. "Then you attack other countries based on…"

"All right, you lost me…forget it," Mary shook her head.

Daniel just laughed and turned back to the group at large, Mary watching momentarily.

"I'm attacking anyway!" Sam declared. "Let's go Jesse!"

Daniel was kind enough to hand Jesse a pair of white dice while Sam held a single black. Both the elder boys instructed them to roll, which was more important in Jesse's case, but judging by Sam's groan the little man had outdone him.

"Naw!" he complained. "Jesse, you got Greenland!"

"This really isn't how it's supposed to work…" Daniel dipped his head backwards to catch Mary's eye, but it was plain he didn't care. "I just thought Sam would like the soldiers and stuff. Plus what you're trying to do to win…"

He jerked his head at the corner of the board where the words, 'Global Domination' were stamped beneath the 'Risk' label and Mary smiled. She couldn't keep her fighting boy away from that.

She turned her attention away from the game, sparing a look for Marshall who was chatting with his mother and brothers on the opposite side. It was women abound by the window – Sophie, Sarah, Brandi, plus Connie and Kim were on the floor. Brandi was French-braiding Sophie's long, chocolate-brown locks while Sarah sat nearby. It made Mary strangely happy to see it. She'd never quite found her niche with the twins – although they adored Sam and had definitely taken to Jesse – but she was glad they'd found their calling with Brandi, however briefly. Her sister was much better at the girly aspects of life.

Bouncing to-and-from all corners was Claire, dressed in grey track pants and an open plaid flannel button up. Her shirt underneath read, 'Sunrise Point Patriots' with a screen-printed picture of a man in a broad hat, as though he belonged in the Civil War.

"Mary…!" she enthused, dashing up to her aunt. "I have a question."

"What's up Claire?" she asked, leaning her chin on her hand.

"Do you think I'm too old to trick-or-treat?" she cocked her head as she said it.

"I don't know," Mary responded to such a simple inquiry. "What were you thinking of going as?"

"I'm not sure," she wrinkled her nose in the exact same way that Julian did. "That's sort of what sucks. I can't be like a princess or something really girly…"

Mary chuckled. She knew that feeling.

"Sam's going as Robin Hood," she offered. "You could be Maid Marion or somebody even though you won't be here. She's a little bit of a less traditional princess."

She was surprising herself by putting so much thought into this.

"I don't know," Claire considered. "It has to be something really cool if I go, because I don't want anyone thinking I'm a baby. You know?"

Mary nodded, whether she knew or not.

"I don't know…" she repeated herself. "Maybe I shouldn't go after all. I'm probably too old…"

Mary realized she really hadn't answered the question asked of her, and resolved to do just that. She touched Claire's arm and when the pre-teen looked at her, Mary suddenly saw the face of the little girl that had held her son on the couch in Kansas on his first Christmas.

"_That grown-up girl holding my boy absolutely cannot be my Claire Bear!"_

"Claire…" she began. "You're only eleven. You've got eons to be an adult."

Time. Funny thing – about time.

"You should go," she spoke her opinion, which was what her niece had asked for.

Claire smiled, tongue poking between her teeth.

"You could be a hippie," Mary suggested. "Tie-dye and sandals and stuff."

"That's a good idea!" Claire told her at once. "How'd you think of that so fast?"

"Clever, I guess," Mary mused, modest as ever.

"You're awesome Mary," she declared, so unabashed as she turned to look in on the boys and their 'Risk' game. "Thanks."

She may have been Julian's daughter, but she was Marshall's child. Mary smiled at the thought and nodded, indicating that she should go ahead and dash off, which she did not hesitate to do.

The evening wore itself on with laughter and squeals, the likes of which Mary was sure the ICU rarely heard. She knew they were pushing it with so many people and doctor's orders, but even they seemed to relish the fact that their designated ward was hopping with shouts of joy rather than grief this time around.

However, it was clear at past eight o'clock they had run their limit and Griffin and Julian were already talking about saying goodbyes. They had early planes to catch – jobs to return to, kids to put back in school.

It was obvious from his face that Marshall was disappointed to see them go and Mary decided she needed to give him a minute by himself with whomever he wanted. She'd booked his bedside a lot in the last eighteen days and was going to be one of the few occupying it in the days to come.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked as she took his hand, the rest of the family gathered around the bed.

"We're gonna let dad spend a few minutes with his family by himself," she instructed as Brandi and Jesse followed them out.

"What for?" Sam wanted to know as the four of them stood in the hall.

Brandi chuckled. Jesse didn't, not knowing what was funny.

"Because we've spent a lot of time with him lately and it's their turn now," was her answer.

"But they're leaving," her son reminded her.

"All the more reason," Brandi finally spoke up. "You'll have lots of time with him once they're gone."

Sam finally shrugged, accepting the replies and motored around their section of the hall. Mary couldn't tell what he was doing – maybe being an airplane or something – but was not at all shocked to see Jesse follow suit and do the exact same thing. This left the sisters alone for a moment.

"You doing okay?" Brandi asked, turning to face Mary.

"Is that just something people _say_ these days?" her sister wondered, but Brandi wasn't offended.

"Come on…" she even laughed. "I just meant with everyone leaving. I know you're going to miss them too; you and Marshall have got a long road ahead."

"And yet I hadn't thought about it until now," Mary smirked in an obnoxious sort of way. "So I'll thank you for that Squish," she clapped her roughly on the shoulder.

"You know, that reminds me…" Brandi continued, ignoring the josh. "Jesse tells me he asked you a very interesting question not long ago."

"Oh yeah?" either Mary was losing it or she'd forgotten.

"What's with the Squish-Smush-Smoosh trifecta?" she bugged her eyes and held up her hands, as though she couldn't possibly understand it. "According to him, you have no earthly justification for our little monikers."

Mary shrugged. She still didn't.

"What?" Brandi was grinning. "We don't deserve to be called by our _real_ names?"

If there was anything to explain it, it was probably some – she couldn't say it aloud – but some motherly instinct that had the terms of endearment, of affection, floating off her tongue. The first person she'd ever 'mothered' was Brandi and thus, the tradition was born.

"Yeah mom!" Sam chimed in upon hearing this, halting his jet-like movements. "Are there other boys somewhere you call 'Smash' or something?"

Brandi cracked up at this, but Mary – in a most un-Mary-like move – ran at both men, causing them to squeal and hold up their hands in surrender. She was too quick for them and she grabbed Sam first, swinging him into her arms.

"_Other_ boys?" she wanted to know as she hoisted him up. "_What_ other boys?"

And then Jesse on her other hip. He was glowing – they were both insanely heavy together but it was a weight that Mary enjoyed. Looking at both their faces, she dug her fingers into their sides and they both shrieked with laughter.

"_You're_ my boys," she declared and she didn't miss the look on Brandi's face at this display of affection.

Hey, if Marshall was going to have his family moment, she might as well have hers (especially when he wasn't watching.) This reminded her and she dared step in front of the door to peer through the sliver of glass at what was going on.

She smiled softly as she saw Connie and Kim taking turns at kissing his cheek in farewell and then stepping aside to let the kids get theirs in as well. Sam and Jesse still perched firmly on both sides of her, Brandi behind, she watched as Sophie and Sarah practically smuggled their uncle. Sarah kissed his head, a typical teenage girl who thought she could get away with most adult gestures. Sophie was plainly teasing him about something because he laughed and then she copied her twin's movements.

Daniel and Quinn were next – awkward and gruff, slouching with their hands in their pockets. Marshall was smart, and reached out to shake theirs once they removed them. He gave Quinn an extra muss of his hair and Mary distinctly saw him go red but it made her grin again.

Claire was last as the boys became heavier and heavier. She was the only one of the kids who really hugged him – full-on, all-out around his chest as he sat up in bed. Even at a distance, Mary saw tears glistening in her gorgeous eyes but she was clearly determined not to let them fall. When they were through, Marshall kissed her nose and she giggled.

Brandi must've sensed what Mary was thinking, because Mary heard the hoarse voice behind her.

"They're your family too, Mare."

She never got tired of hearing it. Putting Sam and Jesse back to the floor, she turned around, feeling nosy for having eavesdropped.

"I need reminding sometimes, Squish," she admitted in a quiet voice as the boys ran off again.

"I know," her younger sister said. "I'll keep telling you."

Mary nodded, the sentiment turning to idle chatter as they waited for the Mann's to come out, lost in thoughts of Sam and Jesse as they bolted up and down the hall, chastising them when they got too noisy or could seriously be bothering the other patients.

Eventually, the door opened and the crew stepped out – filed out in a line actually, and Mary knew her own time for goodbyes had come. Carolyn, however, was conspicuously absent.

"Mom's coming," Griffin jerked his thumb at the door behind him. "Sometime this year I think."

He laughed and Mary did as well; the girls had already rushed Sam for hugs and kisses so she didn't have to worry about them.

"See you Mary…" the middle Mann, in a gesture of closeness they had not possessed before now, leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Hang in there. You're a champ."

Mary wanted to say something equally kind back to him, but she wasn't sure what it would be. She knew her face had flushed with the compliment and there was nothing she could do to hide it. Fortunately, she was spared the task of answering by Julian swooping in and repeating his brother's gesture.

"Keep an eye on Marshall for us," he said seriously. "Don't let him jump back in the game too soon."

They didn't know, but Mary couldn't share the perils of their contemplating the leave from the Marshal Service, even if it was just one of them. She opted to just smile and nod.

"Thanks," to Griffin. "I will," to Julian.

"Okay," they grinned and spoke almost exactly in unison and, obviously through with the affection, inclined their heads and made their way back in the direction of the waiting room.

It was a whirlwind after that as Brandi stood back with Jesse after the girls had practically devoured him in all his cuteness and the uncles bear-hugged Sam out of Mary's earshot. The nieces and nephews finally made a dash back to Mary at the request of their mothers – it was slightly uncomfortable hugs with Sophie and Sarah although Mary reminded herself of the story of their existence and found it a little less so. Daniel and Quinn were no less awkward as they shook her hand, miniature businessmen or something so similar.

They were already halfway back when Claire tore herself away from Sam to say goodbye to Mary; she was the only one that remained behind.

"Bye Mary…" she said sweetly, gentle and cautious as she put her arms around her waist.

Mary never minded Claire and her hugs. Jesse was teaching her tolerance. Still, this felt a little different. Her youngest niece was slightly shuddery and Mary knew it wasn't from having to say farewell to her aunt. Of all the kids, she was the most sensitive and Marshall's condition had definitely taken its toll on her.

"Bye Claire Bear…" she surprised herself by using Marshall's tried-and-true nickname and this prompted a few of the tears she knew had been on their way.

Leaning down and whispering so only the girl could hear, she spoke words of comfort.

"I'll take good care of him, okay?"

Claire nodded; her crying didn't subside but it seemed to have helped just the same.

"Okay…" she murmured thickly, obviously trying to get in control.

"I was scared too Claire," she admitted.

This did the trick. A second nod had more conviction; she stepped back and wiped her eyes.

"Bye Mary…" she said again, late for her father beyond. "Bye Sam…" she waved as she turned around and jogged back down the hall and out of sight.

The moment she was gone, before Mary could turn to Brandi and Jesse and tell them they could be on their way home while she said goodnight to Marshall, the door opened for the last time and Carolyn emerged. Mary had almost forgotten she was still with them and then became grateful she had also had her alone time with Marshall. Her eyes were a little red-rimmed, but she seemed happy.

"Okay honey…" she declared as she turned to Mary. "Can't make me cry again today so…"

And without further ado or waiting for Mary's approval, she pulled her into a surprisingly bone-crushing hug. Mary actually chuckled she was so caught off guard but she recognized something about it now that they were on the other side. Her touch was Marshall's.

"You be good down here…" she instructed, giving her a rough pat on her back. "And take care of my boy."

"Sure," Mary laughed again as she untangled herself. "I made Claire a promise you know."

Carolyn's face fell a little, but the cheer still lingered beneath her lids.

"Sweet girl…" she was referring to her granddaughter this time. "She's never quite fit in with the other four – she was the youngest for so long – but she tries so hard…"

"Yeah…" Mary said quietly. "I know the feeling."

"Can't fault a girl for trying," she was upbeat now. "Even when it's trying to _conceal_ her feelings…"

She raised her eyebrows at this, and her daughter-in-law knew to whom she was referring. Mary and Claire – not the most dissimilar of pairs in the world.

"I best be on my way…" Carolyn pecked her cheek another time for good measure and kissed the top of Sam's head. "Goodbye Sammy."

"Come back soon Grandma!" Sam requested, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"You come see me too!" the woman ordered. "Bye Brandi," she even waved to Mary's sister from halfway down the hall. "You too Jesse darling!"

Polite and kind to a fault, Mary was still laughing lightly long after she disappeared behind the double doors. It was silent in the hallway then except for the bustle in the rooms beyond. How fast fifteen had become four – five if you counted Marshall, and they were losing two on the spot.

"I'll call you tomorrow Mare, okay?" Brandi slid past her easily, patting her shoulder as she took the familiar route as well, leading Jesse by the hand.

It seemed still quieter after that. Even Sam was mute. Mary wondered if he, like her, was still hearing the shouts and the laughter inside his head that had dispersed not ten minutes before. It had been a long-long road to get to this moment, and the track stretched still longer ahead of them, fraught with decisions to be made and choices unplanned. Although Mary was really going to miss the brood from Kansas, she knew all she needed now to press through was a group of three. It was with thoughts of that group of three that she guided Sam by his shoulder back into Marshall's room.

"Hello you two…" Marshall greeted them tiredly as he settled into a reclining position on the bed.

Though he wouldn't say, Mary knew all the activity had worn him out.

"We aren't going to keep you," she said up front as Sam hopped onto the mattress at Marshall's feet and she took the chair. "I want you to sleep."

"They say no rest for the weary…" he reflected blearily, but Mary just shook her head.

"Sleep," she ordered. "We aren't going anywhere."

He smiled fuzzily at this, "I know."

She did the same and picked up his hand, lying on top of the covers. Squeezing gently, she let his fingers rest inside hers. She loved him. She loved him so much.

"Dad?" Sam piped up from the end of the bed.

"Yeah sheriff?" he replied, turning his gaze from Mary's even though he was lying down and couldn't really see his son.

"You'll have a scar now right?"

"Yeah," he reinforced. "We talked about that."

"What will it look like?"

"Well…" he rolled the other way slightly to give Sam a better amount of his attention. "The one on my back shouldn't be too bad. But the one on my stomach will be pretty long. It'll curve around my belly-button."

"That's how mom's looks," Sam informed him.

Now he looked back at his wife, blue eyes twinkling. How she longed to kiss him. How she longed to stay here – in this place where nothing mattered except that Marshall was alive. Where that, and that alone, was enough.

"I remember," he told his son.

Mary did kiss him then – she just couldn't help herself. It was quick, brief, nothing at all. But she did it anyway. Just because she could.

"It's time to head home, bud," Mary said after she did this. "School tomorrow."

"Yeah-yeah…" Sam grumbled as he climbed off the bed and went to stand next to his mother.

To Mary's astonishment, when she righted herself he took her hand. She wasn't used to the gesture, but she let it hang there – small inside her own but as much a comfort for her as it obviously was for him.

"Bye dad…" Sam was saying.

But the partners were just staring at each other. Mary didn't know what was going through his mind this time – whether it was his family heading home to Kansas, whether it was her and his son, whether it was everything that lay ahead but it didn't make any difference. He was here. He was here to think and do and kiss goodnight.

_That_, and that alone, was enough. It was always enough.

"See you later Sam…" Marshall finally murmured.

Mary squeezed her son's hand as she tried to think what to say to bid him farewell, but Sam spoke up first.

"It must gross you guys out…" he decided. "Having those scars."

She knew he was saying it to try and sound tough, and she admired him for it. But it was Marshall's next words that did her in.

"Not me…"

His eyes never left his wife's.

"Because now we match."

**A/N: This was the last of the 'real' chapters, I am sad to say! Just the epilogue remains – it pains me to see it end; it really does!**

**For those unaware and at all curious, "Risk" or "The Game of Global Domination" was a pretty big entity during the years when I still saw my cousins pretty frequently. Basically, the board details a map of the world and each player gets a certain number of 'armies' at the beginning and then again at the start of each of their turns. They place armies on their 'won' countries and you battle the remaining players for their countries, hoping to eventually be the one that owns the whole world. It is wickedly complicated, in my opinion, when you're first learning. Strategy is still tough for me and I remember teaching one of my younger cousins to play when he was about eight and he was totally lost. Of course, he loves it now. Anyway, I just thought I'd explain why I threw that reference in there – a throwback to my childhood.**

**So many hugs for the reviews! I am going to miss them so much! But hang tight for the epilogue tomorrow!**


	31. Epilogue

**A/N: This is it, folks.**

XXX

_Two Months Later_

"It's going to snow!" Sam shouted, perched directly in front of the living room window, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like a rabbit.

The New Mexico night was deceptively clear out Mary's front window, a still blanket of navy hovering above but for a few grey clouds scuttling across the bright moon and Sam seemed to think this was an invitation for a white Christmas. A tall, handsome pine stood in the corner of the room, packages crammed in haphazardly, an assortment of odd ornaments hanging from its branches. Ranchers on horses, pirates brandishing swords, and ceramic police badges swayed in the midst of the more traditional spherical balls of red and green, white lights twinkling among it all.

"It's _going_ to snow!" Sam repeated, still looking skyward.

"It is not…" Jesse sauntered in from the kitchen as he responded to Sam's confidence, balancing a plate of sugar cookies.

He was in a pair of Sam's old pajamas – green, printed with a pattern of golden lions – but they were still a little big for him and he kept tripping on the hems, nearly scattering the cookies all over the rug.

"How do you know?" Sam turned briefly from his post, pulling back the curtains.

He was wearing PJ pants of lightest blue, printed in cowboys. The shirt, however, didn't match. It was so long it resembled a dress, covering the pants completely. A Marshal logo spanned the chest, once a splendorous navy, the five-point star was faded against what used to be white. The dingy tint of the T-shirt still held the faint residue of dust from a kickball diamond; deep within it scented wheat and Kansas July.

"You're not a weatherman," Sam continued, arguing with his cousin.

"It never snows in Albu-quirky," Jesse informed him, putting the cookies on the end table.

"Albuquerque," Brandi hissed from behind, patting his butt as she made her way back from the bedroom and into the kitchen where Peter was snacking on pretzels dipped in chocolate.

"There's no such thing as 'never!'" Sam called.

It was his new favorite phrase.

"Don't eat all that," Brandi smacked her husband's arm, who grinned impishly, mouth full of pretzels. "Mary will murder you."

"Maybe she'll take the day off for Christmas," Peter wondered, but Brandi shook her head. "Won't they be out soon?"

"I don't know what they're doing…" Brandi waved an exasperated hand. "I swear they have their own language; I can't understand half of what they're saying."

Back in the bedroom, Mary was arguing with Marshall and refusing to leave the quarters until he gave it up.

"_You_ can look however ridiculous you want," she stuck her hands on her hips. "You are not going to drag me down with you."

Her husband had donned his own pair of matching PJ's for Christmas Eve – fire-engine red with holly wreaths and bows detailing the holiday spirit spread all over the fabric. They were atrocious. But what was more atrocious was that he expected Mary to wear a set sans collar but with green and white stripes, complete with red cuffs.

"Sam will get such a kick out of it!" Marshall bargained.

"No!" she was very firm. "I'm wearing my drawstring pants and this sweatshirt," without waiting for him to respond, she picked up said garment off the bed and pulled it over her head.

It was an old one, faded grey with the Marshal logo printed in the corner. Now that Sam was well-schooled in official titles, she didn't bother hiding it any longer.

She thought Marshall's pout had to do with her inability to have fun, but it was his eyes that convinced her it was something else.

"What?" she said sharply, one hand still on her hip.

He shrugged as he reached out and fingered the circle on the edge of the sweatshirt, even tracing the five-point star.

"Nothing."

"It isn't nothing," Mary was prepared to be swift and quick, but she wanted to know. "What?"

He couldn't seem to stop touching the emblem, couldn't seem to draw his eyes away. Mary understood, though she'd pretended not to. Now she saw he was going to need some help.

"I know you miss it," she whispered.

"We shouldn't be having this conversation on Christmas…" he shook his head.

"Christmas is tomorrow," Mary was being smart.

"Whatever," Marshall continued shaking his head, clearly irritated with himself. "It isn't the time. This isn't about me…"

He turned sharply to head for the door and immediately winced and put a hand to his side. It had been two months, but old wounds still acted up. A wrong twist, an awkward shift and it was knives in his abdomen. Mary stole over next to him and her hand went beside his, their fingers intertwined against his stomach. His eyes were still shut even after she got there; clearly still feeling the throb that persisted.

"Marshall you have to take it slow…" she reminded him, trying to do it gently. "They rearranged your insides for God's sake; you can't expect to…"

"I know…" he breathed as he opened his eyes, blinking once or twice to get some clarity. "It hits me at the oddest times…"

"I know," she was sympathetic as she repeated him and took her hand off his stomach to caress his back lightly.

"Guess it's a good thing I didn't go back to work after all," he attempted to make it sound like he really meant it, but Mary wasn't fooled.

"I know you miss it," Mary reiterated, exactly what she'd said less than five minutes ago.

"I do…" he admitted. "I know we're gonna try the whole nailed to the desk thing in a few months…" he shrugged. "And in the meantime, Stan's doing a pretty decent job being your partner," he actually smirked.

"Yeah, old man just didn't have it in him to pool all those department funds into hiring another employee…"

Mary knew that wasn't why he'd neglected to bring another Marshal into WITSEC, but she was trying to make Marshall feel better, to make him feel like his position was still open if he wanted it. Partner or not, Mary herself had even taken a backseat in the field as of late. It bothered her too much to be out in the action while Marshall was stuck at home. At the same time, he'd made his choice all on his own. He had claimed he wanted to stay home with Sam while he recovered and maybe even after.

Mary had even been more open to the research side of WITSEC after Marshall came back – history, how to improve it and aide the program in working - which would keep them both out of combat. Stan would have to hire a new set then, but at least they'd be partners again. Bookish, scholarly, nerdy partners not taking such a risk – but partners nonetheless.

"Let's go see what the boys are up to," Mary suggested, clapping his shoulder. "Make sure they're not ripping into the gifts…"

Marshall laughed – a real laugh this time – and followed his wife back into the living room, taking her hand as he did so. Sam was practically doing a jig in front of the window when they entered, Jesse skillfully arranging the cookies on the end table.

"Snow!" Sam chanted. "Snow-snow-snow!"

"You know, some believe that the states of the southwest don't garner any snowfall whatsoever…" Marshall decided to share once they were out of the hallway. "Not true, however…"

He didn't get to finish his thought, because Sam and Jesse whirled around and saw his pajamas. Both of them cracked up, their laugher ringing in the space – tinier due to the room the tree took up. Sam was in stitches and Brandi had choked on one of the cookies she'd stolen at the sight.

"Dad…!" Sam exclaimed as he bolted over, nearly slipping in his socks. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"I am merely showing my holiday spirit," he boasted and stuck out his chest in pride.

"You look silly!" Jesse squealed, joining Sam in front of his aunt and uncle.

"Thank-you Jess," Marshall bowed and inclined his head. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"That is quite the sleepwear…" Peter remarked as he and Brandi commenced with the others, Brandi still crunching loudly on cookies and pretzels. "Did you get Mary a pair?"

"I did, as a matter of fact!" Marshall turned to make eyes at his wife, who tried not to look amused. "Only _someone_ isn't feeling very Christmassy…"

"Maybe I just don't feel like humiliating myself," Mary quipped, but she put her arm around him anyway to show she wasn't completely against the idea.

"Mom-mom!" Sam interrupted, still springing up and down like a kangaroo. "Do you think it's going to snow? Jesse doesn't, but I do…"

"I don't know…" Mary glanced to Marshall to see what he thought. "Gonna have to ask the meteorologist over here."

"Meteorologist?" Jesse inquired as the six of them made their way fully into the living room.

Mary and Marshall occupied one end of the couch, Brandi and Peter on the other. It was a tight fit, but Mary passed Marshall a throw pillow out of habit, which he held against his stomach in case he got jarred unexpectedly. It was routine these days.

Sam and Jesse slid onto the floor and scooted over to the tree. Sam started shaking boxes and would kneel up every so often to check the window while Jesse listened to Marshall explain meteorology.

"It's someone who predicts the weather…" he began.

"How do they do that?" Jesse asked.

"They go to school and learn how. It has to do with the sort of stuff they know is in the atmosphere; they figure out based on what's up there what the weather's going to be like down here," he continued, but another word had obviously thrown his nephew.

"What's the atmosphere?"

Marshall laughed this time, and Mary knew he was figuring out if Jesse was really interested or was simply asking to impress Sam. Some things never changed, and Mary guessed it might be the latter on this front – to see whose prediction was going to be correct.

"Mom, you must not have gotten me a horse…" Sam observed, head muffled, for it was buried in the lower branches of the tree.

Mary often wondered if she was the only mother in the world with a little boy, rather than a little girl, that asked Santa for a pony every year.

"Not this year, sheriff," Marshall conceded.

Sam wasn't deterred. He had come to expect this. He continued shoving boxes aside to look for his name on the packages.

"Santa might still bring it to you," Jesse offered. "When he comes tonight."

"Yeah, I guess…" Sam didn't sound overly hopeful as he finally withdrew his head. There were pine needles stuck to the flannel on his pajamas.

"You really think there is a Santa?" the older boy asked his cousin. "_I've_ never seen him. We don't even have a chimney. How's he get in here?"

Realistic Sam had been pondering this aspect of Christmas ad nauseam over the last month. It was one of his biggest head-scratchers to date because it combined two things he stoutly believed in – imagination and the truth. Mary had been cautious, but had resolved to let him believe. He was little. He wouldn't be forever.

"I thought I saw him one time," Jesse was saying. "Or I heard him – like a thud while I was sleeping."

Mary distinctly saw Peter raise his eyebrows at this. She knew it had been him last year who had stubbed his toe on the sofa trying to navigate his way to the tree in the dark.

"Yeah, but reindeer can't _fly_…" Sam protested, shaking his head. "No animals can fly except for birds."

"Actually Sam, there are several species of wildlife that are said to fly…" Marshall chimed in.

"Here we go…" Mary muttered under her breath.

"The flying squirrel can glide up to three hundred feet and remain airborne but not for very long," he dictated. "And I know you didn't forget about bats."

"Oh, yeah bats!" Sam bounced up another time to see if there was any precipitation out the window and then sat back down. "But still – nothing the size of a reindeer could stay in the air," he decided.

"Well, humpback and sperm whales surface the water and forty percent of their bodies go into the air," Marshall wasn't giving up. "They're up there, even if it's only for a minute."

"_Sperm_ whales?" Mary had to get in on that one, biting with disdain. "Seriously?"

"My boy likes his facts," Marshall clearly wasn't sorry as he shrugged.

Peter and Brandi chuckled politely at their rapport and decided this was the moment to interject the boys' conversation before it got into murkier waters and Sam convinced poor Jesse there was no fat man in a red suit bringing him gifts in the morning.

"Listen you two…" Brandi leaned forward on her knees as she spoke to her men. "You better pick out your Christmas Eve gifts so you'll get to bed on time," she reminded them. "Santa _definitely_ isn't coming if you don't go to sleep."

"What if I can't sleep anyway?" Sam asked as Jesse dove for the packages to see which fated one he would open the day before the big day. "Because I'm too busy meteor-ologing to see if it snows."

"It'll come if it comes Smush," Mary said, a little more disciplinary this time. "You watching's not going to hurry it up."

"I want this one!" Jesse declared, plucking a square box from the mess on the floor, wrapped in plain blue foil paper.

Sam nudged him out of the way with his butt looking for a gift of his own and he fell over sideways.

"Sam, come on," Marshall scolded while Jesse giggled. "Watch where you're going."

Peter and Brandi chuckled at this, obviously amused that both of them weren't diverting from their original selves even on Christmas Eve. They never missed an opportunity to hone Sam into a decent individual.

"Can I open this one mommy?" Jesse held it up for Brandi to see once he'd righted himself.

"Sure honey; if that's the one you want," she told him.

"Jess…" Mary hissed across to him, but now he was eyeing Sam's choice of present and didn't hear. "Jess…" she murmured again.

He turned, blonde hair swinging around his face.

"That one's from me," she whispered, indicating the blue package in his hand, which made him grin.

"Okay, I found one," Sam interrupted them, holding a box of his own while Jesse made himself comfortable crossing his legs on the rug. "But you know when we go to Grandma's for Christmas I'm the _only_ one who gets to open a present on Christmas Eve."

"Yeah, we're not doing that greediness here," Mary cut in, but without malice and a little tease.

Sam shrugged, obviously just not having been able to resist pointing out the detail.

"Do you think she misses us?" he asked.

Brandi and Peter got up to find a gift apiece and Brandi appealed to Mary to see if she wanted her to grab a pair for her and Marshall. Mary nodded, but was careful to indicate the one she wanted Marshall to have. Brandi caught on as Marshall answered Sam's question.

"Yeah, I think she does bud," he admitted. "I miss her too. But we'll talk to her tomorrow and she understood why we couldn't come."

"Because you're still hurt?" Sam questioned and Marshall nodded.

The doctors hadn't cleared him to fly yet, too worried about his injuries in turbulence or anything else that might upset them.

"I wish we could do both…" Sam went on in a small voice while Brandi and Peter handed Mary and Marshall their packages and resumed their seats.

"Well, when you invent time travel sheriff, that's the first thing we'll do," Marshall decided. "We'll have two Christmases – one here and one in Kansas."

Sam smiled, "Cool."

"Cool, indeed," was Marshall's response.

"But…" clearly Sam wasn't finished as he glanced around the room, like he'd missed something. "Isn't Jinx coming?" the talk of grandmothers must've reminded him.

"Later," Mary interjected briefly. "She went to dinner with a friend."

"A _man_ friend," Brandi couldn't resist pointing out and both boys descended into giggles.

"All right…" Peter called, shaking his box for excitement to get their attention. "Everybody got a gift?"

Sam and Jesse held up their packages and shook them too, anxious smiles on their faces as they listened for what might be rattling inside. Mary was always fascinated by the phenomenon that the anticipation was sometimes better than the event itself. She distinctly saw Sam take a look at the window before Peter continued his usual, corny-ass spiel.

"On your mark…" he was leaning forward to watch the boys. "Get set…"

Mary loved the way their eyes gleamed, no matter how cheesy this was.

"Go!"

The paper began to fly as Sam and Jesse ripped and shredded to find the confines – bows everywhere, tape stuck to fingers. The adults usually waited until the kids commenced their reveals before doing their single, solitary gift.

Sam's gift was in a brown UPS box with packing tape and he was trying to use his teeth to open it, so Jesse got to his first. He actually bounced up on the spot in excitement, yanking the toy from its packaging.

"What'd you get baby?" Brandi asked as she leaned over.

Jesse about exploded as he held up his prize.

"It's a _purple_ car!"

Listening to Brandi and Peter 'wow' and ooh-and-ahh, Mary reveled in the fact that it was not just _any_ purple car. It was not a Probe model, as she'd searched for, but did resemble the one Jesse liked so much at Alpert's Autoplex. It was also not a Hot Wheels or a standard-size racer but at least the stature of a Barbie corvette with working wheels, a hood you could open with parts you could take out and put back in as well as a pop-up trunk.

"That is awesome…" Peter said as he nodded and got a good look at the vehicle. "What do you tell Mary?"

"Thank-you Mary!" he sounded so sweet, so genuinely grateful as he got up and actually threw his arms around her neck as well as he could with the four of them all crammed together on the couch. "It's my favorite!"

His aunt chuckled at it being his favorite. He hadn't even opened anything else yet and wouldn't until the next day.

"Sure Jess," she rumpled his hair as she usually did, happy to have made him happy.

It wasn't until Jesse was back on the floor, zooming the car around with delight, that Sam finally found what was inside his packing box.

"WHOA!" he exclaimed.

The pair of them, they were such clichés.

"It's a pirate ship…" he turned the model around so the others could see. "It has these men and a flag that you fly on top and this cannon here…" he pointed it out. "It actually shoots these…"

He stuck his head back in the box, Marshall chuckling about the wealth of knowledge concerning his present. He'd pointed it out to them in the store multiple times, had explained every feature in vivid detail. His face was flushed when he emerged from the box with a bag of miniature cannon balls.

"I really liked that Treasure Island set they had, the really big one…" he obviously couldn't resist pointing out. "But this is super cool…"

Mary realized he thought the pirate ship was a substitute for his other choice and was pleased to see he would be surprised. He was getting the Treasure Island set the next day.

She and Marshall then turned their attention to Brandi and Peter and watched them open their presents – a book and a sweater – but the boys were long gone at that point. A new, very strange battle seemed to be taking place against the fastest car in the world and the mighty pirates and their band of merry men.

"Do yours Mare…" Marshall suggested once Brandi and Peter were through, nodding at the box.

"You mean you're not dying to go first?" his wife teased.

"Just go…" he prodded, tapping the casing now with his fingernail.

Mary never knew what sort of things Marshall was going to get her. She was not the easiest person to shop for because she wore bland clothes and had no time to read or watch television or do anything that didn't include WITSEC and Sam. When she thought about it, she was really very boring and she had to give him quite a headache in figuring out presents. She also hadn't expected much from him this year. He'd only come home from the hospital two weeks before.

Still, she tore the paper off and lifted the top of the box up – moved the tissue paper aside.

"It's for your desk," he said.

She knew then, even before she could see what awaited her, that it was a throwback to their first Christmas together with Sam. He always did this – she got one every year with some snapshot he must be pulling out of thin air, photos she didn't even know had been taken. Sometimes, he let it wait until Christmas morning but this time he'd obviously wrapped the frame in a department store box to throw her off. He was funny that way.

"I'll have to make room for these…" she said, holding the mahogany wood in her hands.

It was not a single frame, but a dual that bent at the center to reveal two photographs side-by-side. On the left was a shot she'd most definitely never seen of Carolyn and Claire. Claire looked like she was maybe six or seven years old – Sam's age – her hair still strawberry blonde, freckles shining off her nose. She and her grandmother were sitting on the front porch of Marshall's house in Kansas; Claire was drawing on the steps with sidewalk chalk, head bent up to look at the photographer. Mary knew she had not been present for its origination, and yet felt as though she had been.

The picture to the right made her take pause; she remembered it being taken and could hardly believe she'd never asked to see it developed. Marshall, Sam, and Jesse just sitting on the couch – the couch where she sat now – and both boys laughing hysterically as the man held them in his lap, obviously disinclined to let them get away. Mary vaguely recalled games of hostages and tying up and Marshall had taken it to the highest level. Jesse and Sam were about three and four years old, respectively – one blonde, one brunette, one straight, one curly. Some things never changed.

And Mary didn't change either – Carolyn, Claire, Marshall, Sam, and Jesse. Her girls. And her boys.

And Marshall knew it; to put two photographs next to one another, totally unrelated. He knew. He knew everything.

"Where'd this one come from?" she tapped the photo of her mother-in-law and niece.

"Mom sent it a long time ago from that summer we weren't able to visit," Marshall revealed. "Right after…"

He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. It was the June after James had died. She'd still been struggling. And Brandi had been a harassed new mother. A whole string of things had prevented it.

"Anyway, she just didn't want us to feel left out," Marshall continued smoothly.

And he hadn't showed it to her then – why? Just for this moment? Entirely possible.

"Claire's grown up so much," was her response, and Marshall nodded.

Mary looked at her glowing face, the sight of Carolyn's arm around her back even as the younger stretched her neck to look up at the camera. Her eyes strayed to the shot of her husband, son, and nephew. Jesse's eyes were squeezed shut he was laughing so hard. Sam was visibly straining to get out of his dad's arms, but their eyes met each other's and it was clear neither one was willing to let go.

"Well…" she set it aside to avoid becoming sentimental, thanks left for later. "You're up, doofus. Do the honors," and she jerked her head at his package.

She'd been waiting for this. She hoped she'd done the right thing. She always hoped that and always doubted it, but she had decided to be bold on this front. Not doing so at work as of late had brought out the gutsy moves in other areas of her life.

Marshall was grinning curiously as he opened his own box, which was light and flat, Brandi and Peter looking on.

"You sure there's actually something in here?" he remarked, but Mary didn't answer.

She watched him do just as she had done – pull the lid off and grope for what lay inside. She waited for what felt like hours, the boys' games a distant hum, trying to gauge her husband's reaction. He was just staring, gazing like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

When he pulled out the little slip of paper, it was Brandi who spoke first.

"Nice Mare…" she chuckled, but she didn't get it.

Leaning against Marshall's arm, she read the words over again. She never got tired of them.

_State of New Mexico…_

_Certificate of Live Birth…_

_Samuel Mann Shannon…_

_October 10th…_

_Hour of Birth…_

_4:58 A.M._

And there, somewhere in the middle…

_Mother's Full Name: Mary Nicole Shannon_

And there next to it. In black and white.

_Father's Full Name: Marshall Christopher Mann_

You'd never know the difference. You'd never know what had gone on underneath. It was here – it was the living proof. The evidence she'd strived so hard to get.

"You can keep that on your desk too if you want," she offered in a whisper and he chuckled.

Turning to face her, she saw that he was moved maybe beyond words at this point. She just leaned into him and he kissed her cheek. Even after the contact, he still wouldn't pull away.

"I love you…" he whispered.

She nodded against him, his face almost pressed into her.

"I love you too."

He was kissing her again, across her cheek, up and down her neck, hand running through her hair. There, in front of Peter and Brandi, her son and theirs on Christmas Eve. It was the most sappy, sugary sweet scene Mary had ever been a part of but knowing that they very nearly had not had this time together, she really couldn't have cared less.

He was breathing hoarsely in her ear once his lips left her skin and even out the corner of her lids, she saw his eyes flick sideways.

"It's snowing," he reported in an undertone.

Of course it was.

Knowing this was the best distracter they could ask for, Mary placed her hand in his lap but he scarcely moved from his post against her.

"Sam…?" she called, almost feeling Marshall smile against her.

"Yeah mom?" he looked up briefly from his spot where he was playing with Jesse.

Marshall's method seemed the best way. Plain and simple.

"It's snowing."

"It's snowing?" he about ruptured and sprung up off the floor, Jesse following suit.

Both of them saw the fat flakes spinning down from the sky, blanketing the brown leaves out front. Mary knew it wouldn't stick, knew it might be gone by noon the next day, knew that the Sandia Mountains beyond her window already had drifts more, but it was clear neither Jesse or Sam cared about this one bit.

"It's snowing!" Sam shrieked, saying it for the third time.

He and Jesse bolted to the window, pressed their fingertips and noses against the glass, smudging it and creating clouds with their breath but it didn't matter. Brandi and Peter laughed and joined them at their post, leaving Mary and Marshall alone on the couch. Mary was content just to watch them – even just their backs – watch her son point and gaze, her nephew bounce around trying to get a good look, her sister tousle the hair of the boys and whisper sweetly in their ears.

After a few moments though, Sam whirled around.

"Mom, come see!"

His eyes were bright with happiness of a new wonder – a blank slate, a fresh world of never-ending possibilities. Just seeing him in that shirt made her smile. Although he didn't know it, he'd as-much-as worn it once before. Murmurings in Mary's chest had her remembering the feel of tiny toes against the ridge of her round belly.

"Come on mom!" Sam pressed.

In the back of her mind as Mary nodded and said she'd be right there, a hope ballooned in her chest. There was nothing to take away from her husband, but her son hadn't asked for his dad. He'd asked for her.

"You coming too?" she asked Marshall, wiggling to the edge of the couch to stand up.

"I wouldn't miss it," he claimed.

And as Mary extended her hand and helped to pull him off the sofa, anchoring him with her arm as they stepped to the window, she reflected over his last words and felt a lump in her throat but was determined to swallow past it.

He hadn't missed anything. He hadn't missed this.

That was enough.

"I changed my mind," Sam jabbered as she and Marshall joined the other four at the window. "I'm glad we stayed home this year."

Looking at Marshall, Mary saw snow and pictures and memories, signatures and seals, a swirling spinning whirlwind of the last few months that showed her she'd cemented something she'd been striving for since the age of seven.

Home.

Her voice was just a whisper as she responded to her son.

"Me too Sam."

**A/N: Oh my goodness fellow readers, I can't believe this is it. Although I certainly wrote this with 'the end' in mind, so many of you have requested that I continue. It is because of you all that Sam and the gang have made it as far as they have. It was just supposed to be a tale of Mary aiding a friend in need during a time of more vulnerability than she usually possesses, and how the lure of family and togetherness makes her realize she wants to raise her flesh and blood with Marshall. The fact that it has spanned into all this amazes me still.**

**Anyway, as I said this was written with 'the end' in mind, but I admit I have been considering, at the requests of a few reviewers, a more Jesse-centric tale. I can't promise anything; the ideas aren't formed yet, but I may give it a try. I also have a couple one-shots in mind of some of Sam's years that we missed (since he jumped from eighteen months to seven years.) Nothing's definite yet, so don't be too disappointed if none of this comes to pass! But I am thinking about it, if anyone is interested.**

**And now I must thank ALL my loyal reviewers from top-to-bottom – jekkah, Enfleurage, Husky2014, JJ2008, exoticanimal, Jayne_Leigh, Dog In The Manger, JMS529, carajiggirl, Don'tCallMeBones, warrior-chic, merciki, CSIViami, bk-1205, BrittanyLS, cobalt6233, jrfanfrommo, cool cat, usafcmycloud, henrylover94, and Shorty22133. Whether you dropped me a comment everyday or just once, I am so grateful for all of it. You make my day and I am certainly not just saying that – hugs to every single one of you for being so loyal!**


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